The Ties That Bind: S1E1 - Woman in White
by TinkerbellBleu
Summary: Join Sam and Dean Winchester, and reluctant rookie Skyler Bleu, as they travel the highways and byways in their '67 Chevy Impala while hunting down the Winchester's missing father. Dean OC/Supernatural Romance/Slow Burn/Violence/Language/Humor/Horror/Sarcasm/Canon Compliant(ish)/Meta/Fan Service/Alternate Timeline
1. Prologue

_The Personal Journal of Skye Winchester_

_As I sit here staring at a blank screen, the blinking cursor staring impassively back at me, I find it difficult to gather my thoughts and turn them into coherent words. Looking back over the years stretching out behind me, it all seems so incredible—so utterly insane—that there's just no way it could possibly have happened. ...but I'm here to tell you that it did. __I should know, I lived it._

_Who am I, you ask? Well, I'm kind of hoping you already know because chances are, if you're reading this, then my family and I are already dead. That's fine—it's long overdue and will be a welcome relief—I'm just hoping we get this into the hands of people that might be able to use it before we find out how it all ends._

_Or maybe you're just a random Hunter that stumbled over it somehow, in which case the name should be at least vaguely familiar to you. If not, then I have to wonder what kind of rock you've been living under because come on, we're kind of legendary. Or maybe infamous would be more accurate? __I don't say that to brag, it's just a fact, and not one that's been terribly easy to live with. _

_I suppose that brings me around to why I'm writing this damn thing in the first place. I guess maybe I hope you learn from our mistakes—we certainly made more than enough of them—or maybe it's because I want those of you that come after us to know that this is not a glamorous or easy life. There are no benefits, no cushy paycheck, no time off or sick days, and if you're not careful, you may well end up a monster far worse than anything you've ever had to hunt down. _

_And if you're very, **very** lucky, you'll die before you watch everyone and everything you love burned to ash in front of you. _

_0/10, do not recommend. _

_Reassuring, aren't I?_

_All that being said, the stories in this journal are as accurate as I can make them. I do freely admit to some educated guess and a little artistic license, but it's pretty impossible to avoid that, so just keep in mind that it's likely to be skewed toward my point of view. Well, that and some friends and family who have so generously offered to let me pick their brains._

_Now, before we go much further, I need you to please be aware that these stories contain inappropriate language, violence, alcohol and drug use, as well as adult themes and situations_ _and just a whole host of other unpleasant and uncomfortable things. I mean it, this shit is going to get **dark**, so if you're not comfortable with that then this really isn't for you. Might I suggest something by Lewis Carrol or maybe Stephen King? He can be downright cheerful in comparison._

_I guess I should start at the beginning, just on the off chance that you have absolutely no idea who we are, t__hough honestly if that's the case, then maybe you really would be better off putting this thing down and just backing away slowly. Nothing contained herein will make any sense to you and you'll probably just conclude that I'm delusional. _

_No? Still here? Well, don't say I didn't warn you..._

_My name is Skyler Summer Winchester, though my maiden name was Bleu. (__And y__es, my name was Skye Bleu. Get over it, I've had to). Now, where exactly is the beginning of our story? It's not the day I was born, of that I'm certain. Oddly enough, I don't think I can even say it was the day I met Dean Matthew Winchester and my life—my entire world—turned upside down and changed forever. _

_Really, I guess I would have to say that the beginning was the day I met Sammy, Dean's little brother, and the three of us hopped in Dean's '67 Chevy and took a little road-trip to Jericho, California..._

* * *

_A very special thank you to my Beta reader Emmyllou! Her works can be found on FFNet and Ao3. Thank you so much, Emmy! Couldn't have fixed this mess without you._

* * *

_The complete season index, all tags and warnings_ _for season one (and frequent updates), can be found in my profile._


	2. In The Beginning

"_One rarely falls in love without being as much attracted to what is interestingly wrong with someone as what is objectively healthy."_

― **Alain de Botton**

The darkness outside was lit only by the flickering street lights when the black 1967 Chevy Impala pulled up outside a shabby apartment building in Palo Alto, California, the home of Stanford University. At half-past three in the morning, the streets were deserted; even the hardest partying college kids asleep or passed out by now.

Pulling up alongside the curb opposite the building, the dark-haired young man in the driver's seat cut the engine, the strains of Led Zeppelin's 'Ramble On' fading away. Resting his elbow against the door, he stared across the street without really seeing what was in front of him, lost so deep in his own thoughts he'd need GPS to find his way out.

Was he doing the right thing in coming here? Honestly, probably not. It'd been four years, was it really fair to come in after all this time and ask his brother to abandon the life he'd built? Again, probably not, but...

Of course, if it'd been just him, he probably wouldn't be here, but he had _her _in tow and really he just couldn't handle being alone with her anymore. Four years and it was a _girl_ that made him finally break down and come find his baby brother.

Ridiculous.

Taking a deep breath, Dean tried to ignore the lingering scent of the perfume she wore. Or maybe it was shampoo? Body wash? Deodorant? Hell, he couldn't pin down exactly what it was, but it wasn't like it mattered, shit was _everywhere_. And God, she smelled good...

"Dean."

Now if only he could ignore her as easily as he pretended to, and even that was hard as hell to do. She wasn't particularly loud, but she was annoyingly persistent and even more stubborn than he was. Not that he was stubborn. Strong-willed, maybe, but definitely not stubborn. And she was trying to get his attention. _Again._ If only her voice matched her demeanor, she'd sound like a fifty-year-old two-pack-a-day smoker but noooo, it had to actually be _pleasant_. The rural accent was absolutely charming when it wasn't being used to disparage his existence and insult his ancestry.

"Dean...Dammit." Picking up the book that she'd been reading, Dean's copy of Jack Kerouac's 'Road Trip', she reached over and smacked him with it, refusing to be ignored for a second longer. "I know you haven't gone deaf in the last hour, Winchester."

He'd seriously rather shoot himself in the foot than admit that hurt, but damn the girl had a surprisingly good arm on her. Considering how likely it was that she'd eventually haul off and slap the shit out of him, that could be a problem.

"_What,_ Skyler?" Whipping his head around, he glared at the obnoxious brunette sitting next to him. He was already tired and aggravated, not to mention worried, apprehensive and just all around exasperated and pissed off with every goddamn bit of this entire situation and she wasn't even _trying_ to help matters. At all. Granted, neither was he, but how could he be expected to when she was driving him out of his damn mind? And there was jack-all he could do about it right now except maybe strangle her in her sleep. Tempting. "What the fuck do you want?"

"For the millionth time, _please_ stop callin' me _Skyler_. It's just 'Skye'. It's called a nickname, it's not that hard, it doesn't take a genius to grasp the concept." Retrieving the book from where it had fallen, Skye opened the glove box and stashed it back where she'd found it, right next to the gun. The book had been a surprise, the gun had not, and she had quite bluntly let him know just that. For like two hours. Pretty sure she hadn't even taken a breath the entire time. "'Course, from what I've seen, you're not burdened with an overabundance a brain cells, so I could be wrong."

"You know your parents were dicks, right? Who names their kid 'Skye'?" Great. He couldn't come up with something better than that? Christ, he needed some sleep.

"Oh, that is a massive understatement, but can't do anything about it at the moment, now can I?" As she twisted a strand of hair around a finger, she ended up fraying the end of the braid that hung over her left shoulder, one of the few nervous habits she seemed to have. She was damned hard to read otherwise...or at least she would have been if she didn't say _every little thing_ that popped into her head. She was either rambling on about something for hours at a time, usually something horribly offensive about him, or completely silent. There didn't seem to be any kind of in-between. No happy medium. If he could just find her damn dimmer-switch, maybe she'd be a little more tolerable. "Besides, _Dean_, last I checked, your name was a title."

Fair point. Dammit. "Stay put, _Skyler. _I'll be right back." Throwing open the driver's side door, he stepped out into a night that was uncharacteristically chilly considering the locale, broken glass crunching beneath his black biker boots. Turning, he leaned in the door and gave the girl a long look before closing it, knowing damn well she wasn't going to listen. "I mean it, _stay here_."

* * *

Turning on a booted heel, Dean crossed the road to the small lawn wrapping around the building that stretched several stories above the street, leaving Skye alone in the Chevy to contemplate Life, the Universe, and Everything. For about forty-two seconds.

"Oh, fuck this noise." Muttering under her breath, she flung her door open and jumped out, slamming it behind her a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. Okay, maybe a _lot_ more forcefully than strictly necessary. Even from here she could see Dean flinch at the sound of metal on metal. Good. He loved the damn thing so much, would serve him right if it ended up smashed to bits in a twisted heap of wreckage right in front of him.

Hands in the pockets of her worn-out jeans, dingy once-white kicks squeaking on the asphalt, it didn't take long to catch up to him. Staying just out of reach, she followed him down the stairs and through the heavy wrought iron door that blocked the entrance. Barely managing a glimpse around the dimly lit interior, she was forced to hurry her steps as he started up the staircase that spiraled squarely around to reach the floors above.

Despite her general opinion of the man, she couldn't quite keep her eyes off his backside. There was no denying he was attractive. Okay, let's be real, he was hot. Like seriously underwear-model gorgeous. And he knew it, too. Arrogant, self-absorbed, ignorant, sexist _prick. _...But god_damn_.

Feeling a headache starting in her temples, Skye tried to wrangle her wayward thoughts back in line. Christ, sometimes it was like herding cats.

* * *

Arms crossed, Skye raised a brow as she watched Dean kneel on the worn wooden floor in front of a door she could only assume was his brothers. This was such bullshit, even kneeling he was almost as tall as she was. Not that that was really saying a lot. At barely five-foot-nothing and ninety-eight pounds, she wasn't exactly the type to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies. Not even on a good day. Not that she had any enemies. That she knew of. Yet.

Dean, on the other hand, was six-foot-two and about two hundred pounds of solid muscle. Okay, just say it, dude was built. Not that she'd managed to get a great look under the twenty layers he insisted on wearing, no matter the weather. Psycho.

"Why don't you just knock?" Tucking her hands in her back pockets, she rocked back on her heels, watching him take a small pack of what could only be lock picks out of his jacket. Of course, he just happened to carry lock picks, because apparently that was a reasonable thing people did. Shoving as much condescension into her voice as she possibly could, she made it quite clear that she thought his IQ was roughly equivalent to his shoe-size, "It's not a hard skill, I could teach you if you want."

Seriously, it wasn't fair. He was tall, dark, and handsome as hell with a boyishly charming smile, perfect white teeth, and drop-dead gorgeous candy-apple green eyes. Also smart, funny, and had decent taste in music. Just about every woman's wet dream made flesh, and more than a few men, too. If only every square inch of him wasn't full of bullshit, sexism, and beer.

"Where's the fun in that?" With a faint click, the lock disengaged and Dean sat back on his heels. He looked up at her, aggravation in every line of his body. Good. Let him be aggravated. Served him right. "I thought I told you to wait your ass in the car."

Taking a second to rearrange her features into what she knew was a damn near perfect mask of innocence, she flashed him her sweetest smile, injecting so much pure loathing into her voice it was practically dripping onto her shoes, "What about the last few days gives you the slightest indication that I give a flying fuck about anything you have to say?"

"You're a real bitch, you know that?" Standing slowly, he towered over her for a moment, giving intimidation a shot. It might have worked if she hadn't spent the last week listening to him snore, drool in his sleep, and sing along horribly off-key to every eighties hair band that ever existed.

"You say bitch like it's a bad thing."

"I just- ugh." With a growl that rolled out from the back of his throat and sent a ripple down her spine, Dean jerked open the doorknob and let himself into the apartment, not bothering to wait to let his eyes adjust to the change in light.

Unwilling to let him see any hesitation, she forced herself across the threshold after only a brief struggle with her uncertainty. She had her doubts that this was really his brother's apartment. He was probably just here to steal something or...something. But her other option was to stay outside. Alone. Thousands of miles from home. In the middle of the night.

Between the two, a possible B&E charge really seemed the better option.


	3. A Temporary Inconvenience

Between a small reading lamp left burning in the corner of the living room and the hazy light filtering in through the blinds from outside, it was just bright enough to not trip, break her neck, and die. After spotting the couch sitting against the far wall, she walked over and sat her happy ass down. Leaning back, she crossed her arms and made a mental note to install an alarm system next time she had anything she could call home.

Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes, ears straining for the sound of Dean moving in the next room. A guy his size should have been like the so-called bull in the proverbial china shop, but he wasn't. Nope, he was actually fairly graceful and unnervingly silent when he felt the need to be, though apparently he didn't feel the need here. She could hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, the fridge door opening and closing again almost as quickly before his steps headed in her direction.

Watching with narrowed eyes as Dean stepped into the living room, she sighed and waited for whatever in the hell would happen next to just happen already, because guaranteed it'd be something.

She didn't have to wait long. She contemplated calling out a warning to Dean as a tall figure stepped up behind him… but where's the fun in that?

* * *

The towering shadow caught Dean off-guard, landing a solid blow before he could turn around, quickly followed by a flurry of activity too fast for her to make out in the darkness. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip and tucked herself into the far corner of the couch, making herself as small as possible. She did _not_ want caught up in the middle of all that nonsense, thanks.

It was entirely too long before the thud of a body hitting the floor announced the fight was more-or-less over. And Dean was the victor because it was just asking too much to see someone kick the snot out of him.

"Whoa, easy tiger." The light from the window illuminated Dean's face, lighting up a broad grin on too-pretty lips as he leaned over the man pinned beneath him. This had to be the closest Skye had seen him to any kind of happy. His default setting seemed to be brooding and terse, though her presence _might_ have had something to do with that.

"Dean?" The man measuring his length on the floor looked up at Dean, in disbelief at what he was seeing. It was obvious Dean was the last person he expected in his living room at half-past three in the morning. Trying to raise himself up on his elbows, a difficult task with two-hundred pounds of jackass on your chest, he finally managed a full sentence: "You scared the crap out of me."

"That's 'cause you're out of practice." As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean found himself on his back, the solid whump of his bulk hitting the floor more than enough to elicit a chuckle from Skye. Now that was more like it. Too bad she didn't see how it happened, it was a neat trick.

"Or not. Get off me." Gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him, Dean spared a glare in her direction as he got himself up off the floor. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was embarrassed. Course, you'd have to be human for that, with actual human feelings. Did asshole count as its own species? Maybe he'd short-circuited the hamster wheel he called a brain, because he was unable to come up with anything better than "Shut up."

As the two men stood and dusted themselves off, Skye got a good look at Dean's 'little' brother for the first time. Holy shit, dude hadn't mentioned the man was a fucking _sequoia_. He had to be a good six-foot-four, maybe more. And if she'd thought _Dean_ was built… Did this guy live in the gym? She could count the six-pack through his t-shirt from here. Talk about some good genes.

* * *

"Dean, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I _was_ lookin' for a beer." Grabbing Sam's shoulder, Dean smiled and pulled him down for a hug, ignoring the surprised look on Skye's face at the sudden display of affection. He already knew exactly what she thought of him and if she wanted to be shocked that he wasn't all gloom and doom, well, fuck her. _Yeah, you'd like to. _Not helpful, brain, fuck off.

"Sam?"

Dean looked up as an attractive blue-eyed blonde dressed in a cut-off Smurfs t-shirt and rainbow-striped boy-cut shorts appeared in the doorway, hair mussed and sleep in her eyes. Flipping the lights on, she stifled a yawn and surveyed the sight in front of her, "What's going on?"

"Jess, hey…" As if finally remembering that this wasn't the most normal way for someone to drop in for a visit, Sam waved Jess over to join them and made introductions, "Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica. Jess, this is Dean and this is-" His expression going blank, Sam realized he had no idea who the girl sitting on his sofa was or what she was doing there. "...I have no clue who that is."

"Well, that's 'cause your brother's rude and failed to make introductions." Getting to her feet, Skye made her way across the room to join them, hands stuck firmly in her back pockets as she stopped a couple feet away. Giving the much taller man a good once-over, she managed a friendly grin that may or may not have made Dean's stomach flutter. ...was probably just the tacos from last night. Yeah. Right. Sure it was. "You know, Sam, I thought you'd be taller."

* * *

Coming from a total stranger, the teasing comment caught Sam off-guard and he found himself smiling back, giving her the same once-over she'd just given him. She was a cute little thing, with an emphasis on little. Dark brown eyes and hair just a shade lighter, she had a wholesome look to her. Very head cheerleader/babysitter/girl-next-door. Definitely _not_ Dean's usual type. "And you're Dean's...girlfriend?"

"Oh, fuck no." Glancing over at Dean, she rolled her eyes so hard Sam could practically hear them "Warren Buffett couldn't pay me enough to date _him_."

"I'd rather swallow ground glass." Scoffing, Dean echoed the sentiment, the muscles in his jaw twitching for a second before he forced out a half-assed explanation, "She's-she's...she's a temporary inconvenience, is what she is."

"That can be arranged," Skye snapped back and Sam had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the nonplussed look on Dean's face at her matter-of-fact tone. With a sweet smile, the girl turned to Jess, dismissing the boys for the moment as she wiggled her fingers in greeting, "Sorry, hi. It's nice to meet you, Jessica. I'm Inconvenient, but you can call me Skye."

"My pleasure, Skye. I think." With a bemused expression, Jessica offered the smaller girl a smile that might have been just a touch sympathetic. Jess was good like that, great about rolling with the punches and always willing to make a friend. It was one thing Sam loved about her, one of a very long list. The fog of sleep seemed to clear her brain right about then and he could see the light bulb flash on over her head as she put two and two together, "Wait. Your brother, Dean?"

"I love the Smurfs." Hands in his pockets, Dean's eyes drifted down to settle on the colorful cartoon characters that decorated Jessica's chest. Sliding a step closer, he let his gaze wander, taking in what was an admittedly beautiful figure. And didn't even bother to try and hide the fact that was what he was doing. Yup, same old Dean. "You know, I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league."

"Just let me put something on…"

"No. No, no. I wouldn't dream of it. ...seriously." Sam wasn't sure if Dean didn't notice Jessica's discomfort or just didn't care, which was a little surprising. Dean had always been popular with the ladies and he knew how to charm and disarm, but he'd never been one to purposefully make a woman uncomfortable. Or, well, he hadn't been last time Sam had seen him. He had to admit, four years was a long time and people changed.

"God, you're such a perv, Winchester. Can't you see you're weirdin' the girl out?" Before Sam could step in and say anything, not that he'd figured out yet what that might be, Skye went and did it for him, not hesitating to step up and get in Dean's face. Or as close to it as she could reach anyway, putting herself solidly between Dean and Jess. "Ever hear of boundaries? Personal space? _Not_ bein' a fuckin' creep? I'm sorry about him, Jessica, he's not house trained. In fact, sometimes I'm shocked shitless that he can function like a normal human person at all. Guess I can't really blame the boy though, poor thing failed out of obedience school…"

Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone jump in and give Dean a dressing down quite like that. Her irritation was understandable, but was that maybe a little jealousy? He'd just met the girl five seconds ago and he couldn't be sure, but that's really what it looked like to him, and the quickly suppressed look of amusement on Dean's face was pretty interesting, too. Okay, who was this girl and, more importantly, what the hell were they doing here at three in the morning?

* * *

"Yeah, whatever." For just a second there, it was all Dean could do not to smile, but aggravation quickly smothered the impulse. Part of him realized he was riling her up on purpose, but that part was easy to ignore and brush off as 'she deserves it'. Didn't have a _thing_ to do with the fact that she was adorable when she was pissed, which was often. Nope. Hello, Egypt? I'd like to book a trip to Denial.

When looming intimidatingly over Skye didn't work, Dean was forced to just roll his eyes and dismiss her as best he could, interrupting her tirade to give Jess a smile. A real one this time and not one designed to poke the bear. Well, the itty-bitty little teddy-bear. Ha. "I gotta borrow your boyfriend here to talk about some private family business, but nice meetin' you, Jess."

"No." Finally deciding to join the conversation instead of just standing there, Sam stepped up and put an arm around Jessica's waist, "Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of her."

"Okay…. Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

"So he's working overtime on a Miller-Time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Not an unreasonable assumption, and one Dean had made himself more than once, but Sam had to know he wouldn't show up out of nowhere if Dad was just off on a bender somewhere. Nibbling on his lower lip, he tried to figure out how to phrase it so Sam would get the hint, not really wanting to look psychotic in front of anymore attractive young women. Just the one was enough for now, thanks.

"Dad's on a _Hunting_ trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days."


	4. Catching Up

"I mean, you can't just break-in in the middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you."

"You're not hearin' me, Sammy."

Huh. Skye hadn't thought Dean possessed any patience, but the way he talked to his younger brother proved she might be wrong. Maybe. Was a bit of a struggle to see him with anything approaching a virtue, but maybe if she turned her head and squinted just right… Dammit, _stop_ looking at his ass. It's not like you can even _see_ anything. Has he never heard of jeans that _fit?_

"Dad's missing and I need you to help me find him."

"Remember the poltergeist in Amherst?"

Poltergeist in Amherst? Do what now? That was more than enough to get Skye's attention and she slowed down a step so she could listen to the conversation without making it obvious that she was shamelessly eavesdropping. Not her fault they talked loud and had forgotten she existed. That was fine, she'd kind of like to forget she existed sometimes, too. Now, what was that about a poltergeist?

"-or the Devil's Gates in Clifton? Dad was missing, then, too. He's always missing and he's always fine."

"Not for this long." Stepping off the end of the staircase, Dean turned to look up at Sam. For the briefest flicker of a heartbeat, Skye almost felt sorry for him. He really was worried and he didn't seem the type to scare easy. With a deep sigh, Dean ran a hand through his dark hair, that fear clear for anyone with eyes to see. Yet another sign he'd forgotten she was there. Yay. "Now, you gonna come with us or not?"

Us. Okay, so maybe he hadn't forgotten. Wasn't the first time she'd been wrong, wouldn't be the last, but still... And it's not like she was a willing participant here. Hell, she was even starting to miss the shitty one-room 'efficiency' apartment she'd lived in the last few weeks and that was just sad.

"I'm not."

"Why not?"

_'Petulant twelve-year-old'_ would be a good description of how Dean was sounding right about now. Like bordering on whiny, as if he hadn't seriously considered the thought that Sam might refuse. Or maybe she was being uncharitable…

"I swore I was done hunting for good."

"Come _on_." Nope, nevermind, he was definitely whining, with a huff or two thrown in for good measure. She kept her expression blank as Dean's eyes drifted to her for just a moment before he turned away, his words floating back over his shoulder as he lead the way to the exit, "It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad."

"Yeah? When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45."

"Well-" Shoving open the wrought-iron door that lead outside, Dean stepped back and held it as Sam and Skye stepped through behind him, "What was he supposed to do?"

"I was _nine years old_."

"Wait, seriously? _Nine?_" She wasn't even aware she'd spoken aloud until Dean rounded on her, looking at her like he'd very much like to strangle her. Pfft, like that was going to do anything. He'd been wanting to strangle her for _days_ and he hadn't exactly bothered to keep that fact to himself, the jackass. "What? That's fucked up, dude."

"See? Even your friend agrees."

"Not my friend and also not helping... and what was he supposed to say, Sam?"

Giving up his attempts to intimidate her into silence yet again, Dean turned on his heel, stalking off and leaving them to follow. Or not. She could always not. She could always head to the highway and hitch back to New Orleans.

..._burning pain, searing through her insides like she was being ripped apart...blood on porcelain…_

Okay, so maybe 'not' wasn't an option. With a sigh and a minor effort of will, Skye pushed back the intrusive memories, brushing them off with the skill of long practice. Suppressing a shiver, she was made acutely aware of the threadbare state of her clothing as the chill air raised goosebumps on her skin. Wasn't California supposed to be _warm?_

"He was supposed to say 'Don't be afraid of the dark'."

"Gotta say, that does seem like the reasonable response." Absently nodding agreement with Sam, Skye opened her big mouth. Partially to piss Dean off, but mostly because she was just tired of holding her tongue, "Pretty sure that's the answer any normal parent gives."

Because she knew what 'normal' was. Please. Her only exposure to normal was Roseanne and Home Improvement. What she wouldn't have given to be raised by Tim and Jill Taylor instead of her demon of a mother. Yeah, well, if wishes were horses, we'd all be eating steak. Or some shit.

"You stay outta this!"

"Or you'll what, glare me to death?" Tossing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes, Skye raised a brow at Dean's flash of temper. Normally she'd shut up and step back, having gotten popped one too many times for mouthing off, but she wasn't about to give _him_ the satisfaction. Besides, he wouldn't actually hit her...probably... and she was unarmed and not even the littlest bit of an actual threat and much as she might _want_ to think he was a total, complete, absolute asshat… He, in fact, wasn't. Dammit. "Or maybe you'll play 'The Best of Journey' over and over and over. Again. Then maybe I'll finally just give in and off myself."

"Keep it up and I'll do it for you." Dude thought he was so damn scary, and okay, he kind of _was_, but if she gave so much as an inch she knew damn well he'd take the whole fucking mile. Flexing his fingers like he could just about feel her neck in his hands, Dean settled for flipping her off when she took a step toward him, calling his bluff. With a final huff in her direction, he rounded on Sam, getting the conversation back on track, "And you, are you kiddin' me? Of _course_ you should be afraid of the dark. You _know_ what's out there."

"Yeah. I know, but the way we were raised after Mom was killed and Dad's obsession with finding the thing that killed her?"

Stepping up behind Skye, Sam gave her shoulder an absent pat. Whether it meant 'sorry my brother's a dicktard', 'nice, good job', or even 'I'll totally smack him around for you', she had no idea. She knew Sam was just trying to be friendly though, reassuring even, but she couldn't stop herself from eeling out from under his hand, her skin crawling at the contact. Nope, no thank you, please stop that. At least he didn't seem to notice, it's not like she wanted to offend him or anything. Considering she'd known him for about long enough to microwave popcorn, he seemed like an alright guy. Unlike his brawler of a brother.

"-but we _still_ haven't found the damn thing, so we kill everything we _can_ find-"

"-saved a lot of people doin' it, too."

"You think Mom would have wanted this for us?"

His voice growing louder than perhaps he'd intended, Sam showed the first hint of a temper of his own. This was definitely her cue to take a step back and pretend invisibility cloaks were a thing that existed outside of Hogwarts. Why couldn't she have inherited some kind of awesome chest full of useful shit? No. Instead, when _her_ Mom died, all she'd gotten was a bunch of dusty boxes and some broken furniture. Yay for unrealistic standards set by the media! Sigh.

"-the weapons training and melting silver into bullets? Man, we were raised like warriors, Dean."

Or Doomsday preppers maybe. With just a dash of vigilante, if Dean's rambling-and-frankly-batshit-insane stories were anything to go by. Which meant either Sam was a total fruitcake too, sharing in Dean's delusions or… or maybe Dean wasn't _totally_ full of shit. At least, not all the time, though she did have a suspicion he at least exaggerated just a tad.

Leaning back against the side of the building, one foot propped on the brick behind her, Skye listened to the two young men argue, the whole conversation more than a little crazy. Was this even really happening? She was hundreds of miles away from 'home', not that New Orleans had ever been home but whatever, with a hulking brute of a young man who was like seven years older than her _and_ a self-confessed serial killer, trying to persuade his younger brother to road-trip with them to find their missing father, who happened to disappear while hunting a monster. An honest-to-God, fangs-and-claws, lives-under-the-bed and goes bump-in-the-night _monster_.

...was she absolutely _sure_ she wasn't just totally nuts? It wasn't exactly outside the realm of possibility...

"So, what are you gonna do? You gonna live some normal apple-pie life, is that it?"

The anger that had laced Dean's voice seemed to drain out of him, leaving him sounding bone-tired. There was that little pang of almost-sympathy again. Nope, go away, you're not welcome here.

"No. Not normal. _Safe_."

"That's why you ran away?" Jamming his hands in his pockets, Dean's lips thinned as he turned away, his gaze briefly locking with hers. From the look she got, the reminder of her presence right that second wasn't exactly appreciated. Well, screw him, it's not like she had much choice in the matter. Also not her fault if just the sight of her tended to piss him off and also, she didn't care. Nope, not even the teeniest, tiniest little bit…_liar..._

* * *

"I was just going to college, Dean." _And you should have been proud of me_. Of course Sam would never voice that aloud, but even after all this time it still stung that Dean had sided with their father. The real reason Sam had left and stayed gone, "It was Dad who said if I was going to go, I should stay gone. That's what I'm doing." Or at least what he'd been _trying _to do, and rather successfully up to this point.

"Yeah, well… Dad's in real trouble this time, if he's not dead already. I can feel it." Sam noted the signs of strain around Dean's eyes, the weariness in his voice. The man was wiped out. Pulling his gaze back from Skye yet again, Dean looked up at Sam. Lowering his voice, he couldn't keep the pleading note out of it, "I can't do this alone, Sam."

Except Dean wasn't alone, he was accompanied by Snarky Spice over there and Sam was starting to think that was a big part of the problem. Resigned, Sam lifted a hand to rub at his temple, feeling a headache trying to start up behind his eyes, "...what was Dad hunting?"


	5. High-Handed Bullshit

Popping open the trunk, Dean didn't try to hide his smug smile at the expression on Skye's face when she got her first real look at their little mobile arsenal. Guns, knives, electronics of various sorts, pretty sure even a grenade or two… he had to admit, it was fairly impressive. Admit, hell, he'd brag about it if he could. Unfortunately, he never really got the chance. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing you brought up in casual conversation and once he got past the 'casual' part… He didn't really know, he'd never gotten past the casual part.

Rummaging around in the disorganized mess that seemed an accurate representation of his entire life, Dean muttered to himself as he tried to find what he was looking for, "Alright, let's see, where the hell did I put that thing?"

Sidling closer to the car, and consequently closer to Dean than he would have preferred right that minute, Skye pulled a hand out of her pocket long enough to point to a glass bottle full of a clear liquid that looked remarkably like water. Because that's exactly what it was. "What's that?"

"Holy water." Slapping at the back of her hand, Dean was just a touch too slow to make contact as she snatched it back. She was quick, he had to give her that much. Remarkably so considering her legs were like three inches long and she had the reach of a grade-schooler. And why was she always poking at stuff? "I've told you before, don't touch my shit."

It was really amazing how much sass that girl could fit into a single glance. In this case, it was 'eat shit and die', with maybe a little 'go play in traffic', and just a touch of 'are you sure your parents aren't related?' Really, absolutely stunning.

Giving her a Look right back, Dean ignored her as she moved away from him and around to the other side of Sam, well out of Dean's reach. Fine. Be that way. See if he cared.

"Hey, Sam, what's this?"

Oh, Goddammit, why couldn't she just _leave shit alone_. Not enough that she had to pester him, now she was doing it to Sam and Sam was patient enough to just go with it. After what he counted as the fifth 'hey Sam, what's this', Dean finally snapped, "Go sit in the car, Skyler. Let the grownups talk."

Offering Sam an apologetic smile, Skye held up a hand to interrupt him in the midst of an explanation of the different makes and models of guns and their related ammo. And she was actually listening. Like, with real interest. What was that all about? The most _he_ could get out of her was a snide remark and an eye roll. Lots of those, actually. So much so that he was a little shocked they hadn't stuck that way yet. Still, he didn't expect her to pop off quite the way she did. Should have, maybe, but didn't.

She leaned a hip against the car, arms crossed over her chest as she cocked her head at him, a chilly smile on her lips. Her reply came so fast and so smooth, there was no way she hadn't been rehearsing it in her head.

"Stop bossin' me, Winchester, before I go hop the next Greyhound out of here and put us both out of our misery. I'm startin' to think death might be preferable to your constant condescending, sexist, high-handed, petty, self-absorbed _bullshit_."

He might have bought the grandstanding, too, if she didn't have the end of her braid twisted into a Gordian knot around her fingers. Get her riled up enough and she was like a kitten hissing at a Doberman or like Tinkerbell stamping her foot and giving Peter attitude. It totally _wasn't_ the funniest thing he'd ever seen and he _certainly_ wasn't doing it on purpose. Probably a good thing Sam interrupted right about then, latching onto the pertinent part of that tirade before Dean could crack a smile and _really_ set her off.

"Wait, what? What is she talking about?"

"Nothin', don't worry about it." Waving off the question, Dean took the opportunity to take control of the situation again. She had a way of making everything veer off course, turning every conversation into something else. It was absurdly aggravating to an utterly ridiculous degree. It was like, from the moment he'd met her, his life had jumped track from what it was supposed to be, and he couldn't say he was fond of the feeling. Glancing up, Dean sighed as he caught Sam's look. Ok, fine, apparently 'don't worry about it' wasn't going to cut it. "Look, I'll explain later, but there are more important things right now. ...okay?"

"...fine." Exchanging an exasperated glance with Skye, Sam reluctantly tabled the discussion for now. Great, maybe Dean really shouldn't have come to pick up his gangly ass. If that look was anything to go by, those two would be ganging up on him in the very near future. Wonderful. "So when Dad left, why didn't you go with him?"

"I was workin' my own case, this Voodoo thing down in New Orleans."

And God how he wished he hadn't taken _that_ case. That Priestess bitch had screwed him ten ways to Sunday and if he had it to do all over again, shooting himself in the head might be the better option. Okay, maybe not the _head_, but definitely worth a leg shot if it got him out of his current predicament. His attention caught on the slim figure at Sam's side for the umpteenth time and he grudgingly nodded in her direction, "That's how we met."

"And it was loathing at first sight."

"Pipe down, Tinkerbell." Still amused by the mental image that brought up, Dean hid a grin by diving back into the clutter to try and find that stupid little cassette player. Where the fuck...

Muttering something under his breath about 'snippy little mini-bitches' and 'distractions', he narrowly avoided cracking his head on the trunk when her voice came from way closer than it had four fucking seconds ago. "Maybe if you cleaned the fucking thing out once in a while, organized a little, it wouldn't take you half a lifetime to find what you're lookin' for. Wait, should I use small words? Clean more, find shit faster."

Trying to peer around his arm, she was seriously invading his personal bubble, which he did not at all appreciate. Damned if she didn't smell good. Like, _really_ good. He couldn't quite place the scent though, and he'd seriously tried over the last week. It was like… like…

_...honeysuckle in summer, when the fireflies were sparking in the yard and you could hear the shouts of the neighborhood kids and the drone of frogs and crickets in the background. The thrill of the air whooshing under your feet as you go higher and higher on the swingset, Mom's laughter floating up from somewhere behind him… _

Where in the holy hell did that come from? Better not to look too deeply into that one, he did _not_ need the headache. Or the therapy bill.


	6. Dean's A Dick

"Wait, you guys met on a case?" Moving over to perch on the bumper, Sam leaned his elbows back on the rim of the open trunk, making no bones about the fact that he was watching Skye and Dean like a hawk. What in the hell was up with those two? They were circling each other like feral cats or whatever other territorial animals you might care to name. "...but I take it you're definitely not in the business, Skye. It is Skye, right?"

"Why, yes. Yes, it is. Your bonehead brother seems to have his head stuck too far up his own ass to bother to learn my name, so thanks for that." Sam figured out pretty quick that he'd stepped in the middle of an ongoing argument and the thought was only confirmed when Skye shot Dean a smug smile that Dean promptly returned with an obscene gesture. "And no, to answer your question, I'm not 'in the business' if by 'business' you mean hunting the Bogeyman. I'm not even on the same _block_ as your business. No offense, Sam, but I'm not yet convinced that you're not both bat-shit crazy. ...or hell, maybe I am."

"None taken, it is crazy. I mean, it's definitely a thing that exists, but it _is_ crazy." 'Batshit crazy' was actually a totally rational way to view the life Sam and Dean had been forced to live for the last twenty-two years. Couldn't really take offense at the truth. Wait, back up a second. Turning his attention back to Dean, he picked up the thread of the conversation again, "Wait, Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?"

"_Dude_, I'm 26."

Okay, Sam could see where that could be offensive. Funny, but offensive. Also funny that Dean was way more offended by _that_ than by Skye calling his life's work 'batshit crazy'.

Finally, after what felt like forever, or at least like several pages of expositional dialogue, Dean found what he'd been looking for and pulled it out of the trunk with a triumphant smile.

Holding up a file folder with a short stack of papers inside, Dean looked entirely too self-satisfied, which lasted all of two seconds, until he realized nobody was paying the least bit of attention to him anymore. Or, at least, that _she_ wasn't paying the least bit of attention anymore

With a sound born of equal parts resignation and aggravation, Dean took a piece of paper out of the thick file folder in his hand. An old newspaper article, from the looks of it, "Dad was checkin' out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California." Flipping the paper in his hand, Dean offered it to Sam, letting him look for himself. "About a month ago this guy disappeared. They found his car but he'd vanished, completely MIA."

Taking the page, Sam barely glanced at it, more interested in what Dean had to say than reading the article he'd been handed. Skye, on the other hand, seemed to prefer her information in written form and took the sheet when Sam offered it to her, giving him a smile that turned instantly into a look that could curdle milk when Dean snatched it right back again.

Leaning against the car with his arms crossed, Sam eyed his brother. Sure Dean could be a dick, but he was being uncharacteristically hostile, especially to an attractive female of legal age. ...Jesus. She _was _of legal age, right? Man, he sure as hell hoped so. She did look to be on the young side but now he was kind of afraid to ask. Shrugging a shoulder while still pondering the problem, Sam made a suggestion, "Maybe he was kidnapped."

"Maybe." Flipping open the folder in his hand, Dean picked up one article after another after another, "...except here's one in April, and December. ..'04, '03, '98, '92'...Ten of them over the past twenty years. All men, all on the same five-mile stretch of road. I do know how to do my damn job, Sam." Looking at him reproachfully, Dean stuffed the sheaf of papers back in the folder and tossed all and sundry onto the pile of weaponry in the trunk. "It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around, that was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough, then yesterday I get this voicemail-"

Pulling out the mini-cassette player from the pocket he'd stuffed it in, Dean held it up for Sam to listen, studiously ignoring Skye when she perched on the bumper between them as the familiar voice of John Winchester issued from the tinny speaker. Heavily distorted, it was difficult to make out exactly what was said.

"_Dean, s***thing is starting to ha****. I think it's serious. I *** ** figure out what's going on." _The static increased, muffling John's voice, making it next to impossible to hear every word. "_Be v*** car***l, Dean. We're al* *n d**ger."_

Well, that was comforting. Leaning forward and nibbling on his thumbnail, Sam took a second to sort his thoughts out before speaking. So, Dean probably wasn't overreacting and there really was something going on. Great. Tapping his fingers on the cold metal of the Impala, he sighed, nodding toward the cassette player in Dean's hand, "You know there's EVP on that?"

"Not bad, Sammy. Kinda like ridin' a bike, isn't it." The pride in Dean's voice was kind of nice. Ridiculous, but nice. Did Dean really think Sam was just going to forget everything he'd learned before he'd come to California? The man really needed to get a hobby.

"What's EVP?"

The complete lack of sarcasm on Skye's part got Sam's attention, his eyes flickering from her to Dean and back again as he braced for another round of bitch-flirting. Because come on, let's just admit that's exactly what it was, shall we? Bitch-flirting, with maybe a _giant_ pinch of stubborn, hard-headed denial. On both their parts. Sam had only watched them interact for all of twenty minutes, but even a blind man could see that.

"Electronic Voice Phenomenon. Sometimes you can hear a spirit speaking when you play back a recording. There's a voice on here, once you clean it up. I slowed down the message and ran it through a GoldWave-"

The smile that crept across Dean's lips when he looked down at Skye was one Sam had to admit he hadn't seen before, answering the question with no trace of the hostility he'd shown thus far. And why exactly was he being hostile? Why hadn't he just seduced her and gotten it over with? It wasn't like he didn't know how. Even Sam had to admit that when Dean turned on the charm, he could get damn near anything he wanted from any even half-willing woman, and she was willing, or he was seriously misreading the situation. Not likely.

"GoldWave?"

"GoldWave is audio recording and playback tech, used by a lot of ghost hunters. Sometimes they get lucky and actually catch real EVP, but mostly not so much. God forbid they ever actually run into a real live ghost."

"If it was 'real live', then it wouldn't be a ghost."

The corner of Sam's lips twitched into a wry smile as he silently watched this 'witty' repartee, the entire feel of this little exchange the exact opposite of everything he'd yet seen. ...and that smile on his brother's stupid face. Could it possibly be Dean wasn't just being Dean? Could he maybe have a little _crush_. Oh my god, he totally did. _Dean had a crush_.

That explained it. Sam didn't think Dean had ever had any interest in anyone beyond the physical, and considering that Dean had all the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old boy… and let's face it, the girl didn't seem much better… Well, that certainly explained the aggressive playground behavior.

Closing his eyes for a second, it took everything Sam had not to start giggling. Oh, good lord, this was just hilarious. _Of course_ his brother would be a walking, talking cliche of a human being. Taking a deep breath, Sam pried his eyes open again when Dean cleared his throat to get Sam's attention.

"I ran it through the GoldWave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got." With a click of cheap plastic, Dean pushed play again, holding it up so it could be heard as clearly as possible in the still October air. Wait, no, that was last night. It was November now. Because _that_ was important.

The hiss of static permeated the background and it took a second for Sam to zero in on the soft feminine voice that had hidden in his father's message, "..._I can never go home…"_

Pushing Dean's deep emotional issues to the back burner for now, Sam tried to focus on the problem, weighing the pros and cons as he absently repeated the mystery woman's words, "I can never go home."

"I gotta say, that's fuckin' creepy. Like...I mean, you guys seem to find this very normal, so I just wanna take a second to make sure I'm not havin' an aneurysm or somethin' and point out that this is really freaky. You guys get that, right?"

Skye's warm Oklahoma drawl slipped through the air around them, pulling Sam out of his thoughts and back to the present. Time to make a choice. Really, he'd made it just as soon as he'd decided to follow Dean out the door to hear what he had to say. Ah well, he could spare a few days to road-trip with his brother and some strange random teenage girl. It's not like this decision would have any real impact on the entire rest of his life...right?

Besides, it was an invitation to a front-row seat in what promised to be some highly amusing family drama. How could he turn down the opportunity to watch Dean trip all over himself like this? He also had to admit, if only to himself, that he was more than a little curious to find out what kind of young woman had caught his brother's attention.

"Yeah. Sorry." With a purely internal sigh, Sam finally answered Skye's question, though it very well may have been rhetorical. If she was going to get into this, it was better to be as honest as possible from the start, "...you'll get used to it." Running a hand through his shaggy hair, Sam turned to Dean, wondering if he was about to make a huge mistake, "Alright, but I've got to be back by Monday morning."

"Why? What's Monday?"

Sam had really been hoping Dean wouldn't ask, but that was just too much to wish for, wasn't it. With a resigned sigh, purely external this time, Sam reluctantly answered, "...I've got an interview." Come on, Dean, just drop it. Yeah, no chance of that.

"What, a job interview? Skip it."

He could tell from Dean's tone, not to mention body language, and really just about every other damn thing about him, that Dean thought Sam had his priorities seriously skewed. How could he possibly explain to his brother how important this was? Dean's entire focus was family, it was everything, and Sam's just wasn't. "It's a law school interview and it's my entire future on a plate."

"Law school? ...what'd you get on your LSATs?" Before Dean could pop off with something, Skye interrupted, surprising Sam with the question. Aside from people actually going into law themselves, very few knew what an LSAT was. While not exactly ground-breaking, it was certainly interesting that she even knew enough to ask.

Chewing on his lower lip, Sam managed to look humble even as he felt a familiar surge of pride, "...174."

"Holy _shit_, dude." Looking suitably impressed, Skye grinned up at him as she leaned back against the Impala, hands deep in the pockets of her worn jeans, "I mean, I figured you got the brains in the family, but _damn_, that's impressive. Good job, Stretch."

"Thanks." Stretch, huh? The girl was like two feet tall, everyone was 'Stretch' to her. Except maybe an Oompa Loompa. With a grin of his own, Sam inclined his head in acknowledgment of the compliment, though the smile quickly slipped away.

Half-turning to look up at the building behind him, Sam blew the hair out of his eyes. This was going to be fun. "Alright, you guys wait here, I'll be back. ...just as soon as I figure out what I'm going to tell Jess."

* * *

Leaning back against the Impala, Dean watched Sam retreat into the building, on his way to lie through his teeth to his girlfriend.

Yet another reason relationships were a bad idea, and that wasn't even getting into the liability issues. ..._is it _really _that bad an idea though?... _Shoving _that_ rogue thought right back down where it came from, Dean ignored it and cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence that threatened to stretch out uncomfortably between him and the aggravating little girl a few feet away. Sam was a safe topic, right? They couldn't possibly fight about _him_. "...so, 174. That's good?"

Sliding down the length of the car, Skye settled back against it once within comfortable talking distance, but still just far enough away that he'd have to move to touch her. She had a habit of doing that kind of thing. Seriously, like ninety-percent of the time she stayed just out of easy reach, like she didn't even realize she was doing it. The other ten percent she was all up in his personal space like she lived there. It was confusing as fuck for multiple reasons, none of which Dean was going to give even a seconds worth of thought. Of course that was like trying not to think of a pink elephant after being specifically told not to think of a pink elephant. Impossible.

"Uh, yeah. It's like, full-ride, _Harvard _kinda good. A perfect score is 180, and only a tenth of a percent of the people that take it get a perfect score. 174 is _really_ impressive."

Cocking her head to the side, she raised a brow in his direction, hesitating for a second as if trying to figure out how to say something. Definitely a first. He'd been starting to wonder if she ever actually thought about the words that came out of her mouth or if she liked being just as surprised as everyone else. He'd been leaning toward the latter. "Just spit it out, Skyler."

She pressed her lips together and Dean could have sworn he actually saw her deciding to ignore the 'Skyler'. Guess whatever was on her mind was important enough for her to skip a chance to insult his existence and she never skipped a chance to insult his existence. "It's just- I don't know. The way you gushed about Sam the whole way here, I thought you two were close-" And there went the hair around the finger again. Between that and the total lack of venom spiking that backwoods accent, Dean was starting to think she might actually be interested in something that involved him. Also a first. He wasn't real sure he liked it, to be honest. "-but he was real surprised to see you in there and you had no idea he was going to law school. How long has it been since you guys talked?"

"Okay, first off, I don't gush. About anything. Ever." Did he? He was pretty sure he didn't. Sure, he'd told a few stories about Sam on the long drive up from Louisiana, but he certainly hadn't _gushed_. ...oh good Lord, he had totally gushed, hadn't he? Shit, well, that was embarrassing. Still, what else was he supposed to talk about? The snippy little brat refused to talk about anything but the pointless random bullshit that popped into her head and _that_ she rambled on about at length. A week, a full _week_ sitting two feet away from her and he still knew next to nothing about her. So fine, he'd gushed a bit. He wasn't about to admit that to _her. _What was the question again? Oh. Yeah… "Not that it's any of your business, but it's been about four years."

"Four _years?_ Shit. ...and you didn't visit or even pick up the phone? Man, that's-"

"Look, it's complicated, alright. And again, not your business." For just a split second, she actually looked hurt and Dean found himself wanting to eat his words, but the expression was replaced with bland disinterest so quick he couldn't be sure he'd really seen it.

Okay, so maybe that had come out a little harsher than he'd intended, but did she have to be so damn nosy? This was hard enough without her putting her two cents in about shit she knew nothing about. ..._so tell her..._Because _that_ was going to happen.

It was bad enough that she'd gotten caught up in the middle of his professional life, she didn't need to be in the middle of his personal life, too. N_ot that I've got one._ Running a hand through his hair, Dean tried to figure out how to smooth over the conversation and utterly failed.

"You know what, whatever, Winchester."

He had the unpleasant feeling that it was going to be a very long night.


	7. Curses, Foiled Again

"Don't even think about it, Winchester." Voice heavy with irritation, Skyler piped up from the backseat as Dean's hand strayed toward the radio dial, "If I have to listen to the golden oldies for the entire drive, it's a toss-up between whether I'll pull a Cobain or smother you in your sleep."

"And Avenged Sevenfold is _so_ much better. Half of your shit doesn't even qualify as music."

"Okay, and on that note-" Knocking Dean's hand away from the radio, Sam turned the knob firmly to the 'off' position before half-turning in his seat so he could see both of them. As amusing as their squabbling was, Sam's curiosity was starting to eat at him, "How did you two wind up together, anyway? Something tells me it wasn't by choice and Skye, no offense, but you're not exactly Dean's usual type."

"I have a type?"

"I'm thinkin' cheap, easy, and desperate probably qualifies as a type. And silicone. _Lots_ of silicone."

"Guys, really..." Smothering a laugh at the offended look on Dean's face, Sam interrupted before his brother could think of a solid comeback, "What happened?"

"She got us cursed."

"I _saved_ your _life." _Sounding more than a little miffed, Skye crossed her arms, slouching down in her seat as she glared at Dean in the rearview mirror, "_He_ got us cursed. I don't know what I did in a past life to get this kind of karma, but it must have been somethin' truly horrendous to earn this shit."

"You probably just opened your mouth and your personality popped out, that's more than enough for a few hundred years bad karma. ...and you did _not_ save my life-"

"Words hurt, Winchester. I'm wounded on a deep, spiritual level." Arm draped over the back of the front seat, Sam watched Skye mime pulling an arrow out of her chest, her levels of sarcasm reaching perilous levels. Was this what they'd been like for the entire last week? Sam wasn't sure Dean had ever met someone that could match him snark for snark. No wonder he looked like his head was about to explode.

"-as I was about to say before the muppet so rudely interrupted… I was down in New Orleans workin' a lead on a Voodoo Priestess that was responsible for about a dozen deaths-"

"I'm sorry, did you just call me a muppet, Grandpa?"

"_Grandpa?_"

"Guys…" Trying to keep these two on track was already becoming a full-time job and Sam had the weirdest feeling that he was going to end up working overtime. A lot of overtime. Too bad it didn't offer hazard pay.

"Right. Anyway, I was down in New Orleans and me and this bitch were goin' toe-to-toe in some dark as fuck back alley on the outskirts of town-"

"-you were right in the _middle_ of town. How the hell nobody else stumbled over you, I have no fuckin' clue-"

"Whatever. As I was saying, so me and this bitch are fightin' it out and right as I'm about to take her down, Skyler wanders into the middle of everything and gets in the way-

"Excuse you? She was kicking your _ass_. Pretty sure you'd be a John Doe at the local mortuary if it wasn't for me-"

"Fine. She _might_ have been a little bit of a distraction-"

"A _little bit_? You really are delusional, Short Bus. I gave you enough time to _shoot her in the head_. In front of me. Which, thanks for the psychological trauma, by the way."

"You're welcome."

Turning away, Sam had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. This was really just too much. He'd thought this kind of thing only happened in cliched straight-to-video Hallmark movies and the occasional bad romance novel.

"Okay, but that really doesn't tell me how you guys ended up in this car together. Dean's not exactly in the habit of taking in random strangers from back alleys." At least, not for longer than a night or two.

"Yeah, well, I didn't kill the bitch fast enough and she cursed us-"

"So you admit this is your fault?"

"For fucks sake, Skyler, would you shut up for two fucking seconds? _Jesus_."

Oh, this was going to be so much fun. At least, it would be if Sam could stave off the headache these two were threatening to cause. Between the muscle twitching in Dean's jaw and the death glares Skye was shooting at the back of Dean's head, Sam was starting to wonder if they'd come to blows before they came to...well...other things. "So she didn't die fast enough and…?"

"And she cursed us with her dying breath." Swooning over sideways in impressively exaggerated fashion, Skye clutched at her chest and let out a fairly convincing death rattle. Convincing enough to make Dean flinch at the wheel, anyway. Aww, how cute. Propping herself up on an elbow, she flipped her braid over her shoulder and grinned up at Sam, "It was real dramatic. There was Latin and everything. Hollywood couldn't a done it better."

"A death curse?" Sucking in his breath, Sam whistled between his death. A real honest-to-God death curse was some pretty heavy mojo. Like, typically of the fatal variety, but they certainly seemed hale and hearty enough. "So what _exactly_ did she curse you with?"

"I can't get more than thirty miles away from Cheerleader Barbie here without puking my guts up. Literally."

"...and you've tested this out, you guys know for sure?"

"Oh yeah, we know for sure. Dean had to more than prove it before I'd step foot in this fuckin' car."

Sam saw Skye visibly pale at the memory, which was interesting considering she was already the next thing to translucent. If she were a character in a cheap dime-store novel, her complexion would have been described as something between peaches-and-cream and porcelain and just about as flawless. Of course, Sam himself would describe it as 'vitamin D deficient' and 'have you considered making friends with sunlight?', but the former was probably more poetic.

Slouching down in her seat, Skye shuddered and looked at Sam. "Headache, chest pain, heart palpitations, vomiting up copious amounts of blood… It was so much fun, I really can't wait to do it again. Now, I think I'm gonna try and catch some z's because your asshole brother apparently doesn't believe in beds."

Glancing up, Dean briefly met Skye's eyes in the rearview before they both looked away. Oh, come on. It had only been, like, an hour and if these two got anymore absurd, Sam's head might implode from trying not to laugh his ass off. And they were stuck together. This was just too precious.

For the first time, Sam actually felt like he might have made the right decision because come on, no way he could miss _this_. "Alright. Sleep good, I guess."

"Thanks, Sam."

* * *

"..._You touch me and it's almost like we knew that there will be history between us two, we knew someday that we would have regrets but we just ignored them the night we met…"_

Waiting until he was sure Skye was asleep, Sam reached out to turn down the radio, wondering if Dean was even paying the slightest attention to what was playing. He seriously doubted it. If Dean had been, no way he would have let that play for as long as he had. Unfortunate, the song seemed incredibly fitting, all things considered.

Turning on the bench seat, the dark leather squeaking beneath his bulk, Sam sat with his back against the door. Elbow on the back of the seat, he eyed his brother, not even trying to hide his smirk as he cleared his throat, "So, what's the real deal with Short Stuff?"

"What, Skye? Is she out?"

"No, I meant the Tooth Fairy. Of course, Skye." Like Sam could have possibly meant anyone else. And how about that, it seemed Dean was fully capable of calling her 'Skye', and even did so by default...which meant he was making a conscious effort to screw with the girl. As though Sam needed more proof that he was an idiot.

"Man, I'm tellin' you, she is the most _stubborn_, smart-assed, _sarcastic_, know-it-all, bitchy _midget_ that I have ever met-" That seemed to be all the impetus Dean needed to go off, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel as he glanced over his shoulder. No way he could see her laying down in the backseat from that angle, but he kept checking anyway. Probably a lot more than he realized. It was _adorable_. "-doesn't listen to a goddamn thing and she's got a mouth on her like an angry, drunken sailor. Seriously, it puts Dad and Bobby both to shame."

"So you're telling me she's you, just cuter and with boobs."

"Not funny."

"I disagree, that was hilarious. And accurate. So you agree that she's cute?" Sam's smirk had long since turned into a full on shit-eating grin. He probably shouldn't, but he just couldn't resist pressing the issue. After all, there was no _way_ Dean could be as oblivious as he seemed, right? He had to at least admit to himself that there was _something._

But then, thinking about it, Sam couldn't think of a single instance where Dean had ever had any relationship with a woman that had lasted longer than three days, and that was a stretch. Not that Sam could blame him, living out of a car and lying professionally, with the occasional slaughter of some creature or other, didn't really lend itself to the whole relationship concept. Still… "Oh my god, she already shot you down, didn't she? _That's _why you're being such an ass."

"...no."

"Let me guess, you and her, first night on the road, you pulled the old 'well, might as well keep each other warm' bit and-"

"Shut up, Sammy."

Sam wasn't sure if he'd nailed it, but he'd at least gotten damn close if the vein throbbing in Dean's forehead was any indication. Without another word, Dean reached over and clicked the radio back on, refusing to even glance in Sam's direction… at least, not until Sam stopped laughing.

"_...__Cause I can't fight this feeling anymore, I've forgotten what I started fighting for.. And if I-"_

Click.

"...it's not _that_ funny, Sam."


	8. The Little Things Give You Away

Going from dead asleep to fully awake in the span of a heartbeat was disconcerting, or it would have been if Skye hadn't been used to it. A useful survival skill, sure, but man, just _once_ she'd like to wake up all slow and lazy like in the movies, sprawled out in a big, warm bed with sunlight streaming in through the curtains… _a boyishly charming grin and bright green eyes next to her…_ Oh, fuck no. She was _not_ going there.

Well she was certainly awake _now. _And at least the sunlight part was there, searing right through her eyeballs and into her brain. Shielding her face, she shied away from what promised to be a disgustingly nice morning and slowly leveraged herself into a sitting position.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Sleep well?" Turning to look over the seat at Skye, Sam stopped rifling through the box in his lap that she knew held Dean's entire cassette collection, some of which she was pretty sure were older than she was. At least Dean was nowhere to be seen. Thank God for small favors.

"Not bad, all things considered, thanks for asking." Stretching the kinks out, she got up slowly, taking in the area around the car. She'd figured out they were at a gas station before she ever opened her eyes, the smell of gasoline and the sound of the cars around them being kind of a dead giveaway. Looks like Dean was keeping up his habit of finding the absolute cheapest, crappiest, most run-down no-name gas stations he possibly could. Grand. Speaking of… "Dean inside?"

"Yup. Bathroom, food, and fuel. You need any of those, grab them now before he gets back."

"Right. Great. Good advice."

* * *

God, what she'd give for a hot shower, or hell, even a cold one. Of course, that just didn't seem to be in the cards this morning. Or yesterday morning, and she knew tomorrow wasn't looking good either. She probably smelled worse than the decrepit excuse for a bathroom she was currently standing in.

With a sigh, Skye splashed water on her face, doing what she could to look like she hadn't spent the last week living out of a plastic bag.

Dean had refused to even stop at a motel for a night, insisting that the car and the showers that could occasionally be found in truck stop bathrooms were 'good enough'. 'Suck it up and deal' had also been a typical response, and she was just about ready to shove the next moldy shower head she came across straight up his ass.

Stomach rumbling, she winced. When was the last time she'd eaten something that wasn't from a fast-food drive-thru or a gas station? Exactly how many days had it been since Dean Winchester fumbled his way into her life? Today was what, November first? And they'd met on the twenty-fifth of October. ...Jesus, it seemed like _so_ much longer than that.

Alright, quit stalling, Skye. Time to face reality…

...whatever _that_ meant.

* * *

When she made her way back out to the car, she found Dean pumping gas, two yellow plastic bags sitting on the trunk next to him. Sam was still sitting in the passenger side seat with the box of tapes in his lap, though by now he'd opened the door and stretched his long legs outside.

"So, how did you pay for that stuff?" Inclining his head toward the plastic bags on the trunk and the pump sticking out the tailend of the car, Sam looked like he already knew the answer, an assumption that proved true the very next time he opened his mouth, "You and Dad still running credit card scams?"

Now that was something Skye hadn't considered. Killing monsters probably didn't pay too well. Or at all. Well, it's not like she hadn't ever done similar to keep herself fed, though that didn't stop the pang of guilt she felt when she thought about exactly how many fast-food burgers 'Dean' had paid for over the last few days. Whoever the cards really belonged to could totally spare a few items off the dollar menu, right? Right. At least, that's what she was going to tell herself to keep from feeling too bad about it.

"Yeah well, huntin' ain't exactly a pro-ball career. Besides, all we do is apply. They send us the cards."

With the clunk of metal on metal, Dean hung up the nozzle after filling the tank. Screwing the gas cap back in before walking back around to the driver's side door, he paused just long enough to shove one bag into Skye's arms before popping his door open, "Got you some food."

"...thanks?" She didn't know whether he was ignoring her or just hadn't heard her, not that it made any difference, the end result was the same. Rolling her eyes, she climbed back into the car, shutting the door as Sam and Dean did the same, settling back in for the rest of the drive.

Pulling the bag over from where she'd set it next to her, she couldn't help but be curious about what Dean could have picked out for her. Up to now, he'd simply tossed her a card or some cash and told her to get whatever. Let's see… Protein bars, a packet of peanuts, a package of cupcakes, some Juicy Fruit, a bag of beef jerky and a couple of bottles of flavored water. All things she'd grabbed at some point or another over the last week.

Huh. She hadn't thought he'd paid that much attention. Or, you know, cared.

* * *

Shifting, Sam leaned back against the door, setting the cardboard box down on the seat next to him. Pulling one knee up, he laid an arm on the back of the seat, a position that was quickly becoming the norm. Glancing from Skye to Dean and back again, he rolled his eyes. Apparently neither of them felt the need to break the silence. Well fine, if they didn't want to talk, he would. Clearing his throat, he caught Dean's attention, picking up the thread of the conversation they'd started at the gas station, "So, what names did you write on the application this time?"

"What? Oh, umm…Burt Aframian and his son, Hector." Lost in whatever thoughts were spinning around in his thick skull, Dean took a minute to figure out what Sam was talking about, blinking blankly over at him as he had to dredge up the information from some corner of his brain that wasn't preoccupied with the girl in the backseat. Not that Sam could be _sure_ that's what was on his brother's mind, but let's call it an educated guess. "Scored two cards out of the deal."

"Sounds about right." These two weren't even going to make a tiny bit of effort, were they? They really wanted to sit in tense silence for the rest of the ride. Yeah, no. Maybe if they could actually hold a conversation without sniping at each other every four seconds, they'd stop wanting to kill each other and go ahead and move on to other things. If they wouldn't talk, he would.

Reaching down into the box, Sam snagged a cassette off the top of the unorganized pile. Holding it up between two fingers, he tapped it against the edge of the box, smirking at Dean, "I swear, man, you have _got_ to update your cassette tape collection."

"What? Why?" Sounding genuinely offended, Dean glanced over at Sam, looking like he just couldn't fathom what anyone could possibly have against his precious classic rock.

"Because they're _cassette tapes_, Grandpa." Snorting derisively, Skye crossed her arms, rolling her eyes so hard they should have popped out and rattled around the floorboards, "What is this, the eighties? You're like half a step away from an eight-track-"

"I am _not_ old-"

"-I mean, there's a little thing called compact discs, you know? And even MP3 players that can connect with your radio. Technology is amazing, Winchester-"

"-and just because you're still in high school, little girl-"

"I graduated two years ago, asshat, which is more than I bet you can say-"

"-does _not_ make me old."

"I mean, she's got a point, dude." Oh, this conversation was going so well. And here he'd thought perhaps music would be a safe topic, but apparently not. Still, the girl wasn't wrong. Holding up one tape after another, Sam let each one drop back into the box after reading off the label, "Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

Laughter drifted up from the backseat, soft and bubbling. Even Sam had to admit it was cute and apparently Dean thought the same, if the smile he was trying to hide was anything to go by. Clearing his throat and wiping that stupid grin off his face, Dean reached into the cardboard box on Sam's lap and rummaged around for a minute, glancing at a tape or two before picking one out and shoving it in the cassette player, "Well, house rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cake-hole."

"..._I met a devil woman, she took my heart away. She said I had it comin', but I wanted it that way…"_

Yeah, because that wasn't an interesting choice in music at all. And unfortunately for Dean, he hadn't turned it up loud enough to drown out the mouthy brunette in the backseat, "Isn't it pie-hole? I've always heard it as pie-hole, so shouldn't it be 'shotgun shuts his' or her because let's not be sexist, 'pie-hole'."

"Fine. How about shotgun and backseat shut their collective fuckin' pie-holes. Happy?"

"Not even remotely."

Okay, so, that worked so wonderfully well. Did they turn _everything_ into a fight? Jesus H Christ, this was going to be a long couple of days. Fine, if everyone else was going to get snippy, Sam might as well join in. Shoving the cardboard box back down into the floorboard, he turned around to slouch down in his seat with his knees jammed against the dash, "It's Sam, okay? 'Sammy' is a chubby twelve-year-old."

There was a wordless sound of agreement from behind him as he watched Dean adjust the rearview mirror for the twentieth time. Sam had never seen him fidget so much and he couldn't quite figure out if Dean kept adjusting the mirror so he could see Skye, or so he couldn't. Did he even notice he was doing it?

"Sorry, can't hear you." Reaching over, Dean turned the volume on the radio up, the lyrics drowning out his own words and even the constant rumble of the V8 engine, "Music's too loud!"

"..._You ain't seen nothin' yet...B-b-b-baby, you just ain't seen n-n-nothin' yet_…"


	9. Dad's Not Dead, Dean

"Alright, so there's no one matching Dad's description at the hospital or the morgue, so that's something, I guess."

Flipping his phone shut, Sam tucked it back into his jacket pocket and sat back in his seat, elbow propped on the door and head in his hand. If Dean didn't know better, he'd swear he could hear a thread of disappointment under the relief in his little brother's voice. Actually, he could almost understand that. At least if John had been one of those places, they'd have known and it wouldn't feel like they were constantly just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Still, at least he wasn't dead. Yet. Probably.

"Wonder what's goin' on here." Rounding a curve in the highway that bordered the drop into the river, Dean's attention was caught by the couple dozen law enforcement officers swarming around the old metal bridge that spanned the water. Kind of hard not to notice that. Looked like opportunity was knocking and who was he not to answer? Pulling off onto the gravel shoulder, he threw the car in park before glancing in the rearview mirror. Wait. Shit. "Skyler, lay down and stay out of sight while Sam and I go check this out."

"Whatever happened to 'please'?" One advantage to being as small as she was, she certainly looked comfortable stretched out in his backseat. Arms crossed over her chest and legs stretched out in front of her, she met Dean's gaze and smiled sweetly, head cocked to the side and that thick, dark braid of hers spilling over her shoulder. _She is too damn cute for my own good._ What was that? Can't hear you, and also, shut the fuck up. God, even her voice was pleasant, in spite of the almost constant mocking, like thick, warm honey, "You know what, Winchester, I'll do it on one condition-" Great, now she was making ultimatums. "-you stop callin' me 'Skyler'-" Alright, that wasn't too unreasonable. "-and you have to say 'please'."

Bitch.

Turning in his seat, Dean laid an arm across the back, lips pursed as he looked at her for a long moment. Even if he made a deal with her, could he actually trust her to sit still and behave for however long it took for him and Sam to go try and get some information? ...and no way was he saying please. "Fine. Deal. Now duck."

"You didn't say please."

"That's two conditions, not one."

"You didn't. Say. _Please._"

Dean recognized the stubborn tilt she got to her chin as she raised a brow, a smug little smirk dancing around the edges of her too-damn-perfect lips. He should, he'd seen it often enough in the mirror. Oh for fucks sake, was she really going to make him beg? ...yeah, of course she was. He really didn't put it past her to get her ass out of the car and march up to the first cop she saw if he didn't. Fan-fucking-tastic. "...please."

No sooner had the word left his mouth than she slid down, stretching out and rolling onto her side. He watched that smug smile turn into an insolent grin as she pillowed her head on her arm, staying below the level of the windows just as she'd said she would. It took entirely too much effort to convince himself that the butterflies fluttering around in his stomach were from copious amounts of caffeine and not the girl two feet away.

"Was that really so hard?"

Yes.

"Now, can I ask what you're doin' or is it this one a those 'I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you' kinda deals?"

"Can the deal include not talking or is it too late to amend that?" From the looks of it, no, that wasn't an option. Damn. Reaching past an entirely-too-quiet Sammy, Dean popped open the glove box and retrieved an old wooden cigar box. Inside were a couple dozen fake IDs for both him and Sam. All of them rather convincing, if he did say so himself.

Was Sammy laughing again? He was, wasn't he. Dude was going to suffocate and die and it'd serve him right. Picking out the two he thought would best suit the situation, Dean extended a hand over the backseat, showing the bit of plastic to Skyler, "We're gonna go ask some questions, see what we can find out."

"You're gonna fake bein' a federal marshal? You really are quite the little felon. Do they really fall for that?"

"I'm a lot of things, but little isn't one of them." And now she was blushing, a flush of color creeping up her cheeks to stain the tips of her ears pink. Well, shame on her for having a dirty mind because Dean had _totally_ meant height and nothing else. And there went his stomach again, too. And did the girl not listen when he spoke? "I have straight up told you I was a felon but you don't listen too good." Or at all. Ever.

"Try sayin' somethin' worth listenin' to."

"You first." Prying open the driver's side door with Sam doing the same on his side, Dean slid out before sparing a brief glance into the backseat, "Stay put, Tinkerbell, we'll be right back."

"Tinkerbell? Oh, Hell n-" The sound of the car door slamming shut and cutting her off was the most satisfying thing Dean had heard all day.

* * *

Gravel grinding beneath his brown boots, Sam stuck his hands in his pocket, walking around the front of the car to join his brother. He couldn't quite keep the grin off his face, just like he couldn't quite resist poking at Dean just a little bit, "You have some interesting song choices lately."

"Knock it off, Sammy. You're just wrong."

"You lying to me or yourself?...both is also an option."

The mingled voices of several uniformed law enforcement officers floated along the breeze, the water from the river rushing along below adding its own music to the unintelligible conversations. A car sat skewed across the roadway halfway across the bridge, a couple of officers crawling over it like ants, looking for some sign of...something.

"...too clean…"

"...yeah...how's...your daughter dealing…"

Bits and pieces of conversation managed to make their way to the Winchester's ears, just enough for them to know that the crime scene had been cleaned up and apparently one of the officer's daughters was dating the victim, yet another missing man. Seemed they'd come just in time. Or maybe a couple days too late…

Stopping behind the car, Dean spoke up, pitching his voice to be heard over the din as he addressed the guy that looked to be in charge, "You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?"

"And who are you?" Taking a step toward the boys, a hand hovering near the grip of the firearm at his hip, he peered out at them from under the wide brim of his very fine hat.

With a smile, Dean flipped out his ID, flashing the phony identification with a confidence Sam did not in the least feel, "Federal Marshals."

The uniformed officer, a 'Franks' from the name on the badge, gave the two a long-once over. Eyes narrowed, he pursed his lips, not looking like he was buying what they were selling. Not that Sam could blame him for being skeptical. Sam would be, too. "You two are a little young for Marshals, aren't you?"

"Thanks, that's awfully kind of you." With a chuckle, Dean accepted the 'compliment', taking a step back and slowly turning to survey the scene around them. Sam knew Dean didn't really like this part of the job. Just because he played a LEO on TV didn't mean he was at all comfortable around them. Just the opposite. One wrong move and they could both end up in prison for a very long time. Judges tend not to like people impersonating high-level law enforcement officers and let's not even get into the shitstorm the mobile arsenal in the trunk would cause. Words laced with impatience, he had no trouble making himself heard over the dozen or so others within earshot, "But you did have another one just like this, correct?"

Resigned, Officer Franks sighed and reluctantly answered. No real reason not to, other than the satisfaction of saying no to Dean, "...yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road, and there've been others before that."

Stepping closer, Sam slipped on a sympathetic smile and shook his shaggy hair out of his eyes, perfectly aware of the harmless puppy-dog look he was currently conveying. He should be, he'd spent years practicing. Being the size of the Jolly Green Giant, he had to use every trick he could to come off as non-threatening as possible, "So this victim, you knew him?"

"A town like this, everybody knows everybody."

Boots crunching on the cracked asphalt, Dean walked slowly around the car, giving no indication that he spotted anything untoward as he continued their little interrogation, "Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?"

"Not so far as we can tell, no."

Damn. More information would have been helpful, but if this really was something of the supernatural variety, it wasn't at all surprising that the cops were stumped. They weren't really known for being an open-minded breed. Still, it never hurt to prod a little further. Clearing his throat, Sam tucked his hands in his pockets, squinting against the sun as he turned back to Officer Franks, "So, you got a theory?"

"Serial murderer? Kidnapping ring?" Shoving back the brim of his hat, Franks dark eyes looked tired, like he was just about ready to throw in the towel here but knew he couldn't. Sam knew the feeling. "Hell, we just don't know."

Making his way back over to Sam, Dean stopped beside his brother, hands in his pockets and a smirk Sam didn't particularly like plastered on his face. Sure enough, the next words to leave Dean's mouth proved the filter on his brain hadn't improved any over the last four years, "Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys."

Taking half a step sideways, Sam trod hard on the toe of Dean's boot with his heel and smiled at Franks, interrupting anything more Dean might have had to say. They really did not need to antagonize the local authorities, something Dean had a real talent for.

Grabbing his brothers arm, Sam gave Franks a nod and started to steer Dean back toward the car, "Well, thanks for your time, gentleman."

Rubbing the tip of his nose, Dean sniffed, muttering under his breath. As soon as they were out of earshot, he reached up and smacked Sam in the back of the head hard enough to make his ears ring for a second. Wincing, he swatted at Dean, "Ow! Dick. What was that for?"

"Why you gotta step on my foot?"

"Why do have to talk to the police like that?"

"Come on, man." Taking a step, Dean turned to face Sam, arms crossed and an annoyed expression on his face, "They don't really know what's goin' on. We're all alone on this. I mean, if we're gonna find Dad, we've gotta get to the bottom of this thing ourselves."

Before Dean could continue what was sure to be a rousing speech, Sam cleared his throat, his eyes shifting from Dean to the people approaching behind him. One uniform, two suits. From the looks of it, this was the county Sheriff and two actual real live Federal Marshals. It was definitely time to go.

"Can I help you boys?"

Turning to address the Sheriff, an older man who was just the epitome of 'good old boy', Dean flashed that thousand-watt smile of his. Too bad it was less than effective on straight men. Well, presumably-straight men. "No sir, we were just leaving." Hands in his pockets, Dean sidestepped the Marshals, inclining his head toward each of them as they passed, "Agent Mulder. Agent Scully."

Using his long legs to advantage, Sam easily kept up with Dean as they crossed the highway back to the car and the girl waiting inside of it. As they got closer, Sam cleared his throat and smiled as Dean glanced back at him, "You're wrong."

"About?

"We're not alone in this."

"Yeah?" Hands in the pockets of his navy blue jacket, Dean stopped a few feet from the car and turned to Sam, "How you figure?"

With a gleeful smile, Sam nodded his head toward the backseat, only too happy to get some revenge for Dean's behavior by reminding him of the very thing he was trying so hard to avoid, "We have Skye."

"Thanks for the reminder. I just _love_ babysitting."

Heading for the passenger side, Sam crossed in front of the car, unable to keep back a short bark of laughter at his brother's aggrieved expression, "If she needs a babysitter, you're going to end up on a list somewhere."

"Jesus Christ, Sammy." With a look that said he was contemplating smashing his own head into the car, or possibly taking up day drinking as a hobby, Dean pried open the driver's side door with a squeal of protesting hinges, "That is just so wrong."

* * *

"What the hell took you guys so long? Can I sit up now?"

Key in the ignition, Dean cranked over the engine, trying his hardest to focus on the purr of the V8 and studiously ignoring the voice piping up from the backseat. Easier said than done, but he could at least fake it convincingly. Of course, all this would be easier if Sam would quit sticking his nose in where it wasn't wanted. Why exactly had he thought picking his brother up from Stanford was a good idea?

"Yeah, you can sit up now." Turning to sit with his arm draped over the backseat, Sam smiled at Skye, shaking his head in wordless apology, "You get why we needed you to stay out of sight, right? We weren't just being jerks."

"Yeah, I get it. I mean, I'm sure the chance to be a jerk was a nice bonus for one of you, but I get it. It'd be weird for two alleged Marshals to have some random kid in their backseat and that could draw unwanted attention."

Pushing herself up, Skye smiled at Sam, obviously not blaming him at all. Nope, it was all Dean's fault. Great. How was that fair again? He'd even said please, for fucks sake, but was she smiling at _him_ like that? Of course not. ._..was that jealousy?_ No, of course not. That was stupid. What was there to be jealous of? Nothing. Fuck he needed some sleep. ...yeah, that was the problem. Sure. He just needed a nap, or even just a shower. A nice, long, hot shower. Maybe some food that didn't come from under a heat lamp.

Whatever his problem was, it certainly wasn't helping his temper any, which was probably why his mouth just popped open all on its own and tried to pick a fight, "You're not as stupid as you look." Probably.

"If only I could say the same to you." Stretching and leaning back against the seat, Skye met Dean's eyes in the rearview, an irritatingly cheerful smile on her lips as she refused to take the bait. Because that wasn't aggravating, "You guys find out anything useful?"

"Little yes, little no. Mostly no."

"The cops are useless, I mean they usually are, but we did overhear that one of their daughters was dating the victim." And why was he bothering to tell her this, exactly? She didn't need to know. If he had his way, she'd be locked in the trunk the entire time. "She's been putting up missing person flyers in town. We're gonna head in and try to find her, see if she's got any info we can use."

"I'm comin' with you."

The absolute last thing they needed was for her to tag along, getting in the way and fucking shit up. At best she was a liability and at worst she was dead. ...possibly because he'd end up killing her... "The hell you are, you're gonna sit your ass in the car."

"What do you think, Sam?" Sliding closer, she crossed her arms on the back of the seat and looked at Sam with the sweetest smile she could have possibly plastered on her face. A smile that was fooling absolutely no one at this point, "Am I gonna stay in the car this time?"

"This is just a shot in the dark here but I'm going to go with no. Though I only just met you, so you could still surprise me."

Not helping, Sammy, thank you so much. Why was he encouraging her? So much for family loyalty. ...and why the fuck did Sammy keep giggling?

"That's fair. Let's see…" Rubbing the tip of her nose for a second, she crossed her arms back over the top of the seat and smiled again. Not a particularly pleasant smile this time, but a smile nonetheless, "I turn nineteen next month and I was born and raised in Oklahoma. ...and I'm _not _stayin' in the car." And there was that stubborn head-tilt again. "There, now you know a little more about me."


	10. Some Say Potato, Some Say Extortion

"There's no reason for-"

"-I'm not staying in the car the entire fuckin'-"

"Guys." Interrupting what had already been a ten-minute bitch-fest, Sam spoke up loud enough to make himself heard over their squabbling. Good thing too, because she was just about ready to climb over the front seat and strangle Dean with her bare hands. Or there was the gun in the glove box. She didn't know how to shoot, but if _he_ could do it, she was pretty confident she could figure it out.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Sam pressed his lips together for a moment, smothering what she was pretty sure was laughter. Again. What the hell was so funny? So far, she liked him, he seemed like a pretty nice guy, but seriously, she didn't get the joke. ..._Sure you don't…_Did everyone have that little proverbial devil on their shoulder that valiantly tried to call them on their own bullshit, or was that just her? Well, not today, imaginary mini-Satan. Not today.

"There." One hand on the steering wheel, Dean nodded toward a young woman as they slowly cruised past, a thick stack of flyers in her hand and dozens more already lining the street, "I think that's our girl."

"And here I thought I was your girl, Winchester." Shoulder against the rear passenger-side door, she smiled, glancing over in time to see the muscle in Dean's jaw start to twitch. Now _that_ was funny. And also a terrible habit. Bet he got headaches, and hellacious dental bills. A smile that pretty had to be expensive.

Hand hovering near the door handle, she didn't bother to acknowledge Dean's reply. Something about 'stay in the car', 'don't you dare', 'don't even think about it'. Whatever, it wasn't important. As soon as the car slowed enough, she was out the door, kicking it shut behind her before Dean had a chance to throw it into park.

Stepping up onto the curb, she stuck her hands in her pockets and turned to wait, shoulders around her ears as she tried to burrow a little further into her useless t-shirt. It wasn't the warmest day ever and she could have been comfortable for an extra few minutes, but hearing Dean curse from here was totally worth it. Sam's laughter was just a bonus.

* * *

"Stubborn bitch."

"I prefer 'strong-willed'. Same meaning, different flavor."

Hands in her pockets, she was waiting on the sidewalk for him and Sam as they stepped out of the car, a smug smirk directed at him. What, like he couldn't just pick her ass up and toss her back in the car? She was the size of a fucking Cabbage Patch kid, it wouldn't be hard. "Get your ass back in the car, Tinkerbell." If the narrowed eyes and fingers in her hair were any indication, she did not like the new nickname. Good to know, he'd have to use it more often.

"How about no."

"I swear to God if you don't get back in the car, I'll-"

"What?" Paying no mind to the few pedestrians that skirted around them, Skye gave up all pretense at being amused and stepped closer, refusing to look away. Was she really challenging him? Well wasn't that adorable. "You'll what, Dean? I'm not a fucking poodle, you can't just leave me in the car while you run errands." And now she was smiling, which couldn't possibly be good. Taking a step closer, she lowered her voice, "...and you can smile and nod and agree that you have absolutely no authority over me or I can start screaming."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me. Who do you think a cop is going to believe? Me, Miss Cheerleader Barbie, or you, Mister 'I have a blood-stained arsenal in the trunk'?"

Yeah, he _really_ didn't like that smile, or that tone, or the fact that he was like ninety-eight percent sure she wasn't bluffing. When, exactly, had he lost control of this entire situation? Oh. Right. New Orleans. Fuck. "That's blackmail."

"I prefer extortion." Looking entirely too pleased with herself, Skye rocked back on her heels, hands still stuck firmly in the back pockets of her baggy jeans, "It sounds classier."

Great. Now she was all smug because she thought she'd won. ...because she had. Dammit. "Fine, you can come...but you had better behave and do what you're told." Turning to Sam, who'd just been standing there leaning against the car the entire fucking time, watching like a creeper, "And you, what kind of help are you?"

With a grin, Sam straightened up and joined them on the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his tan jacket. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, he fell into step on the other side of Skyler, giving her an approving nod before looking up at Dean with a smile, "I like her."

"Thanks, Sasquatch. I like you too." Warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners as Skye smiled up at the lanky freak of nature walking on the other side of her, arms wrapped around herself, goosebumps breaking out on pale skin at the touch of the breeze. And there went Dean's stomach again. Maybe he was coming down with something… And when had the temperature started dropping? He tended to run hot and didn't notice, only wearing layers to hide the fact that he also tended to run heavily armed. And pockets. Pockets were good.

"Sasquatch, huh?" Pausing in the middle of the sidewalk, Sam turned and gave Skye a good once-over, thinking about that one before nodding slow agreement, "Alright. ...Midget."

Midget was right, or damn close. And to go right along with her small stature, she was about as big around as Dean's thigh and, while he couldn't make a lot out under that oversized t-shirt and baggy jeans, he was fairly sure she didn't have an ounce of fat on her. No wonder she was cold, girl had basically no insulation. Fuckin' a.

With a sigh he felt all the way down to his toes, Dean looped back around to where Sam and Skye had stopped on the sidewalk, right in the middle of everything. Shrugging out of his heavy jacket, he held it out to her, getting nothing but a suspicious look in return. There's gratitude for you. "Here, take it."

"Why?"

"Because you're cold."

"...so?"

Fucks sake, he was trying to be nice. Was she really going to turn this into a fight too? She'd already won the last one, no way was he letting her win any more and this was just stupid, she was freezing. Stubborn, hard-headed, snippy little…

A tight smile painted on his lips, Dean stepped around behind her, cutting her off before she could make a run for it. Draping the jacket over her slim shoulders, he short-circuited the argument before it could get going in earnest. His breath stirring the stray hairs tucked behind her ear, he leaned in close enough to smell that damned perfume that made his brain fuzz, "...put it on or I will put it on you."

A flush of pale pink swept across fair skin, creeping up the back of her neck to stain the tips of her ears pink. Now if only he could figure out if that was because of his threat or just his proximity, that'd be great. Tilting her head, she tried to look up at him, only succeeding in getting close enough for him to figure out that the scent under that honeysuckle perfume was Juicy Fruit. "You wouldn't."

Was it getting warmer out here? "Try me."


	11. Local Legends

Content to hang back and follow the others for the moment, Sam pressed his lips firmly together and choked down a laugh as he watched Skye shake her hands free from Dean's too-long sleeves, looking like a little kid playing dressed up in big brother's clothes. Somehow he didn't think she'd appreciate the comparison.

Lengthening his stride, Sam easily caught up as Dean approached the dark-haired and equally dark-lipsticked young woman, his brother's bass rumble getting her attention, "You must be Amy."

"Yeah?" As Amy turned toward them, Sam couldn't help but note the lines of exhaustion around her eyes and the defeated sag of her shoulders. The girl looked like hell, but most people did when a loved one went missing or turned up violently dead. Not a part of the job Sam had ever gotten used to. Clutching a thick stack of flyers to her chest, Amy blinked up at them and nodded, confirming Dean's assumption, "I'm Amy."

"Our nephew Troy told us about you." Pulling out his hundred watt smile, Dean turned up the charm as he lied through his teeth. Sam had to admit Dean was pretty smooth when he tried, but then, he'd had a lot of practice. "I'm Dean, and this is Sam and our little sister, Skye."

"He never mentioned you to me." Shaking her head, Amy dismissed them as she pulled a flyer from the stack and moved to tape it up on a vacant store window.

"Yeah, well, that's Troy, I guess." She didn't look the least bit interested in anything they had to say and if she walked off, their only solid lead went with her. Half-laughing, Dean brushed off the brush-off, quickening his steps to catch up as Amy started to walk away. It didn't do any good, she didn't even glance back at him as he continued to try to catch her attention, "We're not around much, we're up around Modesto now."

Poor Dean, just no luck with women lately. Shaking his hair out of his face and turning up the puppy-dog eyes, Sam stepped in, trying to see if he could do better. Hands tucked into his pockets, he flashed Amy the friendliest smile he could muster, "We're looking for him too. We were just kind of asking around."

...and nothing. Damn. It's like Amy barely heard them, their words going right in one ear and out the other.

"I'm so sorry about my brothers, they're a little single-minded sometimes." Backing up a step Sam raised a brow and looked at Skye as she finally spoke up. She'd been hanging back up to now, so quiet it was easy to forget she was there. "This must be so hard for you."

Making her way past the boys, Skye rolled her eyes at the deathglare Dean gave her before turning to Amy. Gone was the snappy little brat that had been tormenting Dean all day and in her place was a warm, caring young woman offering a sympathetic smile and a shoulder to lean on. Whether it was just a tactic to get what she wanted or a genuine facet of her personality was the question, though Sam was heavily leaning toward the latter. Either that, or she was a much better actress than he'd given her credit for.

"Are you hungry? I bet you haven't eaten today. Personally, I could use about six cups of coffee and a dozen eggs." Inclining her head toward the diner across the street, Skye held out a hand, leaving it up to Amy whether or not she'd take Skye's offer of coffee and comfort. "Come on, our treat. I'm sure Troy wouldn't want you goin' hungry."

* * *

"..._your cruel device...your blood, like ice...One look could kill...my pain, your thrill…"_

Leaning back against the dark blue Naugahyde , Dean took a long drink of his coffee, the rich scent of it a welcome relief after having Tinkerbell shoved up his nose all afternoon. The diner was exactly what he'd expected, right down to the formica tabletops and the classic rock playing low in the background. Could have gone with a different song, though. Not that there was anything wrong with Alice Cooper, but Poison was just a little much.

"_...I wanna love you but I better not touch, I wanna touch you but my senses tell me to stop…"_

Picking up the badly laminated single-page menu, he tried to read the words written in faded blue ink on yellowing paper. Okay, so actually he was trying to pay attention to absolutely anything but the girl fidgeting across the table from him, which was probably why he now knew exactly how many cacti were sitting on the windowsills and that the couple sitting behind him were having some pretty intense compatibility issues. TMI, guys, thanks.

"..._I wanna kiss you but I want it too much, I wanna taste you but your lips are venomous poison…"_

"Would you stop that."

"Stop what?" The only sign he'd suprised her was the faintest twitch when she looked up, quickly suppressed. She was good, he had to give her that, rarely letting on what she was really thinking, though the way she was ripping her napkin into pieces of confetti-like she was pulling tiny bodies limb-from-limb might have been a clue. Not the easiest task when his too-long sleeves kept creeping up over her hands, tangling her fingers and getting in the way. Seven times now she'd had to shake them back. Not that he was counting.

"Let me see your hands."

"What? Why?"

"Would you just-" Reaching for her, he felt her flinch when he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, trying to pull away again. Everything was a fight, she couldn't just sit still and trust him for two minutes… "Fucks sake, Skye, I don't bite."

"..._your mouth, so hot...your web, I'm caught...your skin, so wet...black lace, on sweat…"_

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Fine, I do, but only if you ask nicely." Folding up one sleeve, Dean's mental processes were mostly preoccupied with ignoring the last reluctant twitch of her hand in his before she went still. The flutter of her pulse and the warmth of soft skin under his fingertips was a little more difficult and that _stupid song_ wasn't helping a damn thing. How long was this version? Was it the super-extended edition? ...and was she blushing again? Wait, what had he just said?

"In your dreams, Winchester."

Nightly, actually, but that was really something Dean preferred not to think about, for a variety of reasons. Was it getting warm in here?

"..._I hear you calling and it's needles and pins, I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name. Don't wanna touch you but you're under my skin…"_

"Am I interrupting something here or…?"

"Sam. Amy." Oh, thank god. Clearing his throat, Dean hastily relinquished the hold he had on Skye's hand as Sam and Amy returned from the bathroom, feeling a rush of heat flood through him. Great, now _he_ was blushing. Sammy was never going to let him hear the end of this. Shoving himself up, he let Sam back into his spot, Skye doing the same with Amy on the other side, "I was starting to think you fell in.."

"Sorry, no such luck."

With a grin that spoke volumes, Sam slid in, giving Dean a knowing look that really just made Dean want to hit something. Namely Sam. Luckily for him, the waitress chose that moment to appear, notepad in hand, sparing Sam from grievous bodily injury. Or at least a punch on the arm.

"You guys know what you want to order or do you need another minute?"

* * *

Wrapping her hands around her newly-filled cup of coffee, Skye tried to perch as close to the edge of her seat as she could, the booths uncomfortably small. Or maybe it was just that she couldn't pull her legs up under her with Amy sitting right there and was thus forced to tuck them under the table, snug up against Dean's. Yay. She could feel the heat of him even through two layers of denim. No wonder his jacket had been so warm when she'd been forced to put it on.

"Amy, when is the last time you talked to Troy?"

Oh yeah, she was supposed to be paying attention. Or something. Not that they really needed any help or input from her. As soon as she'd talked Amy into the diner, the young woman had relaxed, her reluctance to talk to them fading with each sip of her coffee.

"The day he disappeared. I was actually on the phone with him right before-" Voice thickening, Amy's eyes flooded as she tried to speak past the lump in her throat. Without thinking about it, Skye reached over and laid a reassuring hand on Amy's, getting a wan smile in return. Giving Skye's fingers a tight squeeze, Amy cleared her throat and went on. "I was on the phone with him and he was driving home. He said he would call me right back but— but he never did."

"He didn't say anything strange or out of the ordinary?" Sam leaned forward, one arm on the table as he gave Amy a sympathetic smile. Dude really did just give off this super-sweet friendly-giant kind of vibe. The longer Skye spent around him, the more she liked him. It was really too bad she couldn't have been cursed with _his _constant presence instead, there wasn't a doubt in her mind he'd be easier to live with. She was actually going to miss Sam when they dropped him back off at Stanford and that was a little surprising.

"No, nothing I can remember."

"Here's the deal, Amy." Leaning back, Dean smiled, and not the pleasantly charming All-American Boy smile either but more of a 'I'm getting tired of being dicked around' kind of smile. Did he really need to be so suspicious of everything? Couldn't just take someone at their word, nope, always had to give intimidation a try. Dick move, man.

Shifting, Skye managed to 'accidentally' kick Dean right in the shin, though you wouldn't have known it to look at him. Didn't so much as flinch, the ass, though a minor war under the table ended with Skye's ankles trapped firmly between his so she couldn't do it again. Welp, that backfired.

"What is it?" Too busy trying to extricate herself, Skye didn't note the look on Amy's face, only looking up when Sam spoke, "Whatever it is, I promise we'll listen."

"Well it's just-I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk."

"Small town, people latch onto anything that might provide some entertainment value." Speaking up for the first time in a while, Skye avoided both Dean's reproachful gaze and Sam's interested one, instead focusing her attention on the dark-haired woman sitting next to her, "People disappearing? That's big news in a place like this."

"Exactly. You guys from a small town?"

"Empire, just outside of Modesto." Smiling, Skye ignored the look of surprise on the boys faces. A week chattering in the car with Dean, pulling random bits of information out at the least opportunity, and still, that expression never got old. This was actually almost kind of fun, or at least not boring, which to her was basically the same thing. "Everybody knew everything about everybody else. You couldn't spit without the neighbor two blocks away reportin' it to everyone at church on Sunday."

"Ladies."

Did they often speak in unison like that? Because that wasn't disconcerting at all. Funny, but disconcerting. And weird.

"Amy, you were saying?"

"It's kind of this local legend. This one girl, she got murdered out on Centennial like decades ago." Nearly inaudible at first, as if she were afraid they'd think she was crazy for even bringing it up, Amy's voice gained a little strength when Skye laid a reassuring hand on her arm. With a grateful smile, Amy straightened and cleared her throat, finishing her thought, "...supposedly, she's still out there hitching along the highway and whoever picks up her disappears forever."

"I think every little town has a story or two like that. Back home, we had a couple. I think Cry Baby Bridge was probably the most locally famous." If Dean didn't quit giving her 'shut the hell up' looks, she was going to end up stabbing him with a fork. It's not like she couldn't read a room, she wasn't going to say anything that would upset his precious investigation into John's disappearance. Besides, she was the one that had gotten Amy to talk in the first place. "Supposedly a Native American woman threw her baby off a bridge and then tossed herself in after and now you can hear a baby crying and a sobbing woman whenever there's a full moon." If he could quit trying to stare her down, that would be great and did his eyes really have to be _that_ green..."Not that there's ever anything to stories like that but you wouldn't happen to remember the hitchhiker's name, would you?"

"Courtney? Karlee maybe? I don't really know."


	12. Don't Harsh My Mellow

"What'd you kick me for?"

"Because you were bein' a dick. You don't have to be so harsh, couldn't you see that girl is barely hangin' on?"

Well at least they'd waited until Amy was out of earshot to start up again. They'd managed to get through lunch without sniping at each other and Amy had been pleasant company, and moderately informative, if a little on the quiet side. ...so had Skye, for that matter. Aside from getting Amy to talk, she hadn't said a word the entire time.

"I was not harsh. Sam, was I harsh?"

Falling behind as they headed across the street and up the block, Sam tucked his hands into his pockets, trying to keep the grin off his face as he watched the disastrous duo in front of him bicker. Seriously, just get a room already. Hell, he'd gladly pony up for the condoms. With a shrug, Sam nodded slowly in Skye's direction, "Sorry, she's right, you were a little harsh."

"...man, you are no help."

Rolling his eyes, Sam shifted his attention to the huffy brunette making mocking faces at his brother. The more he saw the two interact, the more he was coming to agree with the Voodoo Priestess, they really did deserve each other. Now if only they could communicate in something other than sarcasm.

Still, the girl had done well considering she was effectively being thrown into the deep end here, and Sam was always willing to give credit where credit was due, "Hey, Skye, you did pretty good with Amy. ...is Empire really a town?"

"Thanks, Sam, I appreciate that, and yes. Population of about four thousand." Half-turning to glance back at him, Skye smiled the kind of smile that made him think that maybe there was a fairly nice young woman under all the snark. Of course, if she actually turned out to be as sweet and smart as Sam thought she might, then Dean was in some serious trouble. ...if he wasn't already.

"How do you know that?"

"Dude, she's an even bigger nerd than you are. She knows the most bizarre, useless, random bullshit." Stepping up onto the curb, Dean glanced up the street toward the Impala before turning back to look at his brother, gesturing to the girl next to him that was now throwing glares in his direction, "I now know more about geese than I ever wanted to-"

"-they are feathery balls of rage and evil and should be wiped out of existence-"

"-never heard so much fowl language in my life."

From the look on Dean's face, you'd have thought he never heard a girl laugh at one of his stupid jokes before. It was somewhere between 'astonished dumbass' and 'kid at Christmas that is also an astonished dumbass', like maybe he hadn't even known Christmas was a thing. Sam was willing to bet dollars to donuts it was the first time that Dean had gotten anything beyond a grudging chuckle out of this particular girl.

"It wasn't that funny."

"Dude, fuck you, I'm hilarious."

* * *

Stopping on the sidewalk in front of the Impala, Skye turned, squinting into the sunlight that picked out the red in her dark hair and turned cool brown eyes to burnished copper. _Great, now I'm waxing poetic. The fuck_… Hands in _his _pockets, she leaned against the front bumper and stifled a yawn, looking full and warm and drowsy and was that a smile?

"So, what now?"

Perching on the hood next to her, Sam propped the heels of his brown boots on the bumper, elbows on his knees as he smiled over at the girl in what Dean sincerely hoped was a purely platonic kind of way. Because Sam had a girlfriend. Yeah. That was the reason. "Now we'll probably head over to the library and check out the local legends, starting with the woman Amy mentioned-"

"But first you're gonna take this-" Leaning against the car next to Skye, Dean interrupted Sam, producing a handful of cash he'd dug out of his wallet. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get what she needed. Ignoring the confused look on her face, he nodded in the direction of the storefront directly in front of the car, "-and go in there."

"What? ...why?"

Looking over at the windows in front of them, Dean contemplated the words 'Vintage Values' and 'second-hand' and 'thrift store' painted in giant red letters on the glass, obscuring the racks and shelves of assorted clothing behind them. Slowly turning back to Skye, he raised a brow, "...seriously?"

"What I think my brother is trying to say is that, if you're going to be running around with us, maybe you should be dressed more appropriately."

Opening her mouth to refuse, no doubt about to spout off something obnoxious about not wanting his help or his charity or some other such bullshit, Dean cut her off, "No, what I'm trying to say is maybe if you were more comfortable, you wouldn't be such a raging bitch."

...or here's to hoping, anyway.

* * *

Sitting on the back bumper, Sam watched the comings and goings of small-town life happening around him. After about the twentieth one, they were all the same, just running together after a while. He'd spent almost eighteen years living on the road with Dean and their Dad before he'd gotten out, night after night at one bad motel room after another. It surprised him to find that he kind of missed it.

Dean, though, Dean took to it like a fish to water. Always followed their Dad's orders, always did what he was told, never looking ahead to the future because he never expected to have one. It was no way to live, but Dean reveled in it. Or at least he used to, these days maybe not so much.

Looking up at the familiar tread of Dean's footsteps on asphalt as he returned from an impromptu trip down the block, Sam smiled and raised a brow at the blue and white plastic bag in his hand, "What did you get?"

"None of your business." Setting the bag down on the trunk, Dean hopped up to sit next to it, his heels on the bumper. Glancing over his shoulder at the storefront behind them, he made a face and checked the clunky piece of black plastic on his wrist. "She's still in there?"

"It's only been twenty minutes, cut her some slack." Snagging a handle, Sam pulled the bag over and took a peak, spotting, among other things, what looked an awful lot like a short stack of CDs. Was that 'The Best of the 90s'? "What is all that?"

"Man, you are nosy as fuck, you know that?" Slugging Sam in the shoulder, Dean grabbed the bag back, giving Sam a good glare. Not a particularly _effective_ glare, but not bad. "It's a discman, if you must know."

"Isn't that sweet." And fast. Feeding the girl was one thing, and even the new clothes were necessary, but this? Since when did Dean randomly give someone gifts? Since never, that's when. What an interesting development. Inwardly, Sam pulled a Mr. Burns, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Outwardly he just smiled, "Are you trying to do something nice for Skye?"

"Just tryin' to keep her the fuck off my radio." Sitting with his elbows on his knees, Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, a flush of color creeping up the back of his neck. Clearing his throat, he pressed his lips together into a tight smile, looking up to meet Sam's eyes. "Girl has no taste."

"You do know I know when you're lying, right?"

"Shut up, no you don't." Yes, Sam really did. Had since he was ten, so he wasn't quite sure who Dean was trying to fool here. Shoving the bag clear across the trunk and as far away from the both of them as he could, Dean waived off the entire conversation, turning serious. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What's on your mind?"

Running a hand through his hair, Dean leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. Sam watched him take the time to find the right words as he glanced toward the storefront. Dean wasn't exactly known for fancy prose, but he could be surprisingly perceptive and usually got his point across. "When she introduced herself back at your place, did Skye shake your hand? Or Jessica's?"

Well, that wasn't anything anywhere close to what Sam had expected. Why was that even a question? With a shrug, Sam thought about it for a second before shaking his head, raising a brow in Dean's direction, "No, I don't think she did. Why?"

If Dean didn't quit chewing on the inside of his cheek, he was going to end up biting a hole right through it. "...because at first I thought it was just me but I'm startin' to think I was wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she's skittish, shies away from people. She'll go out of her way to avoid touching anyone or even coming close. If she gets close to you, it's fine, but if you get too close to her…" Well, Sam hadn't been wrong about how closely Dean had been watching her but apparently it wasn't all for the reasons he'd assumed. Dean was _concerned_. Now wasn't that cute.

"She flinches when you move too fast or raise your voice and I have _never_ met anyone that talks about themselves as little as she does. Man, I don't even know her last name." That was decidedly less cute and Sam really didn't like the implication. Looked like Dean really didn't either. 'Concerned' may have been an understatement.

Spreading his hands, Dean contemplated the cracked asphalt below his feet for a long minute before he continued, "You should have seen her apartment, Sam, a cheap motel is an upgrade. One room, no furniture, just a mattress on the floor, a radio, and a metric shit-ton of books and you've seen her clothes. She's got exactly one other outfit and a bag of toiletries and that's it."

"You think maybe she's a runaway or something?" Not a great thought, but if she really was legal, it wouldn't make any difference. If she was lying about her age, though, that could be a problem. For several reasons. "Rough home life?"

"I don't know, maybe? I mean, she took remarkably little convincing to run off with some strange man in a shiny car, but I'd say that last part is pretty definite."

"So, what, you think maybe you misjudged her and maybe she's not a total bitch after all?"

"Oh, she's still a bitch." Even Sam could admit that, but how much of that bitchiness was in direct reaction to Dean's? He wasn't exactly being the most pleasant of traveling companions and Skye had been nothing but friendly to Sam and sincerely sweet with Amy. "...but she's kind of cute, I'll give her that, and she's not stupid."

"So you going to admit that you're attracted to her yet?"

"Dammit, Sam, will you stop that? She's just a kid, she shouldn't even be here, and as soon as we find Dad he's gonna help me break that stupid bitch's curse and we can send her packing. Until then, it's best to just avoid complications."

Maybe it was just the way those two looked at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking, or maybe it was something else, but Sam couldn't shake the feeling that it was already far too late for that and maybe had been since the second Skyler had stumbled into that back alley in New Orleans.

Straightening up from where he leaned against the trunk next to Dean, Sam turned at the sound of the door to the thrift shop opening behind them. Smile widening as he watched Skye step off the curb, Sam smothered a giggle as he clapped Dean on the shoulder, turning him so Dean could take a look for himself, "...I don't know, Dean, she looks pretty grown to me."

* * *

If he'd stopped to give it any thought at all, Dean wouldn't have figured that a simple change in wardrobe could make any kind of real difference. Of course, he'd been known to be wrong on occasion. Lots of them, actually, but who's counting? _I should have kept her in her old clothes._

The too-baggy jeans had been replaced with low-rise faded blue denim that outlined legs longer than they had any right to be. She was only two feet tall, for fucks sake, so where the hell had those come from? Her shirt wasn't any better, a black tank-top with 'I'm Not Trying To Be Difficult It Just Comes Naturally' scrawled in white across a chest he was trying real hard not to stare at.

If the Universe had been fair, she'd have been some overweight thirty-five-year-old housewife with no sense of humor and the IQ of a football, but no, apparently the Universe wanted him to suffer and she had to be built like _that_. ...because God_damn_.

"Not bad, Midget." Pushing himself away from the car, Sam left Dean sitting there with his mouth open, though hopefully only in the figurative sense. If he actually started to drool, he'd never live it down and would ultimately end up shooting himself in the head to end the misery of what Sam would put him through. Better to avoid all that by _not_ looking like a dumbstruck asshole. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.

It didn't help at all that Sam was getting her to spin for him so he could get a good look and Dean knew it wasn't for Sam's benefit. To be fair, until that moment, Dean hadn't even noticed the denim jacket or the black biker boots that were almost identical to his own. How did she even find those in her size? And where was his… Oh, _there_ was his jacket. Tossed onto the hood of the car next to a leather knapsack that Dean could only assume was stuffed with more clothes that he wasn't going to like. Y_eah, sure you don't._ Deep breaths, Dean. Deep breaths.

"Seriously, Skye, you look great. Doesn't she, Dean?"

'Great' didn't begin to cover it. Fantastic might, but it still lacked something. Hot as hell seemed to be about as close as his admittedly distracted brain could get right that second. Not that he could say any of that, or even think it loudly to himself, but it was _definitely_ getting warmer out here.

Hands in his pockets, Dean leaned a hip against the side of the car, trying to work with thoughts that had turned as thick as mud, and just about as unhygienic. _No complications, remember? _Unsticking his jaw, Dean avoided looking directly at her or Sam as he finally managed a sentence, "You look...better."

"Thanks, Sam. And hey, check this out…" Whether she was ignoring him or just hadn't heard him, Dean wasn't really sure and he wasn't about to ask. For the first time since they'd met, she was excited about something, bouncing up onto her toes and beaming at them as she held her 'new' denim jacket open to show the colorful lining. "It's a Marvel Comics print! How cool is that?"

"That's adorable." Chuckling, Sam glanced back at him, meeting his eyes and flashing him a smile that Dean didn't particularly like before Sam turned back to Skyler and gestured to the plastic bag on the trunk, "And speaking of adorable, Dean got you a present."

Were all brother's this much of a pain in the ass or was Dean just lucky? Someday Dean was going to shank Sam right in the thigh and when asked why, Dean could present a long list of moments just like this one and he was confident there wasn't a jury in the world that wouldn't find it justified.

That got her attention. Confusion furrowing her brow, Skye turned to Dean as if she hadn't quite understood what Sam had said, "He… what?"

"I didn't-It's not-" Grabbing the bag, Dean forced himself to take the two steps that closed the distance between them. Sparing Sam a dark look, Dean shoved the bag into Skye's arms. "I'm just sick of Taylor Swift is all."

"Sure you are." Chuckling, Sam clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder before hastily retreating at the look Dean shot him. "And on that note, I'll be in the car."

Ignoring Sam as he skirted around them and climbed in the passenger seat, Dean tried to get a handle on the prickle of anxiety that was currently trying to worm its way up out of his stomach. _You'd think nobody's ever given her a present before._ ...not that that's what it was. Because it wasn't. He was _just_ trying to keep her away from his radio and if it just _happened_ to earn him a brownie point or two, all the better, right? After all, they were going to be stuck together for God knew how long and they might as well _try_ to be civil. Maybe even friendly. That was perfectly reasonable. Mature even. And _totally_ the reason he'd done it.

And if she'd actually say something, that'd be great. Instead she was just standing there, the CDs in one hand and the bag in the other, looking for all the world like she'd been smacked in the back of the head. Had he actually knocked her speechless? Definitely a first. Maybe he'd have to buy her stuff more often, just to get her to shut up. "It's not that big a deal, Skye."

Tucking the cases back in the bag, Skye set it on the hood of the car before turning back toward him. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked at Dean for a long moment before she finally spoke, "Why are you being nice to me, Dean?" Not for the first time, he wished she were easier to read, that the prickly facade would crack just the littlest bit.

"Maybe I'm just a nice guy."

"No, you're not." And there was that look again. He'd give quite a bit to know exactly what was going on in her head right that minute. Before he could say anything else, she smiled, one corner of her lips quirking up just enough to qualify, "A good man, maybe, but _definitely_ not a nice guy."

What the hell did that mean? Wait, did she just say she thought he was a good man? Pushing that aside for now, Dean cleared his throat, trying out a half-smile of his own, "Do you at least like the stupid thing?"

"It's not stupid." And for just a second, Dean got his wish, getting a glimpse of the girl hiding behind the bitch. Her dark brown eyes turned to warm honey as she looked up at him with the most appealing smile he'd ever seen. "Thank you, Dean."

"...you're welcome."

_I am in so much trouble._


	13. I Like Big Books and I Cannot Lie

"Welcome to the Jericho Public Library." Holding open the car door for Skye, Sam gestured grandly towards the single-story brick building sitting across the closely manicured lawn, the grass browning and half-dead. From Dean's description of her apartment, Sam wasn't surprised by how her eyes lit up at the sight of it. "Bookworm?"

Hands in the pockets of her denim jacket, Skye lengthened her stride to keep up with Sam's long legs, smiling over at him as she stepped up onto the sidewalk that ran to the front door from the nearly empty parking lot. "Autodidact with an eidetic memory and absolutely no social life."

That certainly fit with the 'pointless rambling about random bullshit' that Dean had been going off about. Also how she'd known Empire was outside of Modesto and had a population of about four thousand. Oh, and also the geese. The girl was like a walking, talking version of those random fact placemats you found in bars. "That explains a lot."

"Doesn't it just?"

Finally catching up with them, Dean had apparently caught the conversation but looked like he needed a translator. Considering Sam knew exactly how dumb Dean wasn't, he was willing to chalk it up to a lack of sleep and the cute girl in well-fitting jeans. That was just about enough to make anyone's brain fuzz a little. Snagging Sam's shoulder, Dean caught him up just short of the door, lowering his voice. "A what with a who now? What's that in English?"

Turning his head away, Sam pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, determined to stop laughing at every little thing. It wasn't easy, by any means, this was all just so ridiculously absurd. "She said she's smart and has an excellent memory."

"Like how smart is smart, you think?"

Hauling on the glass door, Skye propped it open with a foot before turning to look back at them, the corners of her lips twitching. There was smothered laughter bubbling up and thickening her voice when she spoke, though whether it was mocking or honest amusement, Sam couldn't quite tell, "...like, 174 full-ride Harvard kinda smart. Also, I have excellent hearing. ...oh, and also perfect vision. Look, you've learned somethin' else about me. Isn't learning _fun_?"

"Just fuckin' shoot me now, Sam."

* * *

It only took a minute for Dean to find the computer bank tucked in the back corner of the building. Like small-town diners, small-town libraries were all pretty much the same. The same hushed atmosphere, the same scent of old books, the same lowkey panic from students desperately trying to finish last-minute school work.

Picking a spot as far away from the few other patrons as possible, Dean grabbed a rolling chair and pushed it over to the computer at the far end of the row before throwing himself in front of it, beating Sam to the punch.

Ignoring his Sam's exasperated sigh, Dean settled in and pulled up the search engine as Sam settled into a chair next to him. Skye didn't bother with a chair at all, instead taking up a position on the far side of Sam, as far away from Dean as she could get and still hope to see the screen.

Smothering an exasperated sigh of his own, the click of the keys beneath Dean's fingers went quiet as he rolled his eyes in her direction, "I thought we established that I don't bite."

Wrapping her hands around the edge of the table, she leaned forward to peer around Sam, looking at Dean with an insolent grin, "Funny, I thought we established that you do."

Was she flirting? Because that felt like flirting. Or at least teasing... Choosing to ignore the possibility was easier than ignoring the heat creeping up the back of his neck. Christ, he hadn't blushed so much since he was a teenager. Hell, until very recently, he hadn't been sure he was still capable. It was not a pleasant surprise.

Silence rose up around them, broken only by the occasional shuffle of paper and murmur of voices from among the stacks as Dean started typing again, pulling up the website for the Jericho Herald. It only took a few minutes to search several variations of 'female homicide Centennial Highway' with no results.

"Let me try." Reaching over and grabbing the mouse out from Dean's hand, Sam tried to weasel his way in and take over.

"I got it." Smacking at Sam, Dean tried to wrest it back but ultimately failed when Sam simply grabbed his chair and gave him a shove, sending him rolling several feet and giving Sam more than enough time to take his place. Pursing his lips, Dean gave up and wheeled over to take the empty spot at Sam's side, giving him a smack in the arm for his trouble. "Dude. You are such a control freak."

"Ain't that just the pot callin' the kettle black?" Crossing her arms, Skye didn't even try to hide the fact that she was laughing at them. Not that Dean could really blame her and hey, at least she was in a good mood. Shaking several loose strands of hair out of her eyes, she turned her attention to Sam, the giggle fading but a smile still firmly in place. "So, ghosts and spirits and whatever are usually the result of a tragic or violent death, right?"

"Yeah, how'd you know that?" Smiling back, Sam answered, looking thrilled that she was asking questions and getting involved. Dean was considerably less so. He'd feel a lot better about the whole thing if she'd just keep her nose out of things. Maybe he could get her to agree to go grab a room somewhere cheap and hang out while he and Sam worked the case. ...yeah. Right.

"I'm not the only one that rambles." Rolling his eyes at the implication, Dean bit his tongue, refusing to give in to the urge to object. He did _not_ ramble. Grumbling to himself, Dean leaned back in his chair and made the conscious decision to not glare as she finished her thought, "You remember what I said about Cry Baby Bridge?"

"...I see where you're going. Let me check."

Well Sam might, but Dean didn't. The chair beneath him squeaked as he sat up, clearing his throat to get their attention, "Someone wanna clue me in here?"

"Maybe we're not looking for a murder." Sam leaned back in his chair, gesturing toward the screen as it popped up with a single search result. "Maybe we're looking for a suicide." With a final click of the mouse, Sam pulled up the news article, "One Constance Welch, 24, jumped off Sylvania bridge and drowned in the river back in '81."

"Does it say why she did it?"

"Uh...yeah," Sam scrolled for a second as he looked for the answer to Dean's question, "An hour before they found her, she'd called 911. Her two kids were in the tub. She left them alone for a minute and when she came back, they weren't breathing. Both died. 'Our babies were gone and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband, Joseph Welch."

"Yeah. That'd do it." Pushing his chair back, Dean sunk down in his seat, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle as he contemplated this new piece of information.

Leaning closer to Sam, Skye reached for the mouse, her hand hovering a few inches from Sam's before she stopped to ask permission, "May I, Sam?"

"Of course."

Without hesitation, Sam relinquished his chair so she could sit, grabbing another one for himself. Well wasn't Sam just such a gentleman. At least they seemed to be getting along. Very well, in fact, like a house on fire. And that certainly didn't have anything to do with why Dean was getting a little cranky. _Exactly how long you gonna keep lying to yourself?_ As long as heavenly possible, thank you, and probably long past the point where it was just stupid. Stupid was good. He could do stupid. He was _good_ at stupid.

Watching her skim the page a couple of times before scrolling back up to contemplate the picture attached to the article, Dean noted the vague frown lines etching themselves into her forehead and yup, there went the hair. If she ever kicked that habit, she'd be great at poker, though for now it was a great sign that she was thinking too hard about something and he was grateful for it. "What's on your mind, Tinkerbell?"

He almost thought she hadn't heard him, but that idea was quickly dispelled when she slowly spun her chair around to face him. Leaning forward, she sat with her elbows resting on her knees and just looked at him for a long moment before speaking, "Why Tinkerbell, Winchester? Of all things, why am I a fuckin' glitter pixie?"

She had to know that the more she protested, the more likely it was to stick. Right? "Because you're tiny and annoying." _And really cute when you're mad_. Pretty sure he didn't say that last part out loud.

Lips pressed tightly shut, she watched him through narrowed eyes and he could see her thinking over and discarding several replies before she finally opened her mouth. "...whatever."

Feeling like he'd won that argument, Dean decided to go the mature route and stuck his tongue out at her, getting a middle finger in response and temporarily forgetting what had started the conversation in the first place. At least until Sam spoke up. "What were you wanting to say, Short Stuff?"

"I don't know, it's just-" Hesitating, Skye leaned back, pulling a leg up to her chest and wrapping her arms around a knee as she slowly swiveled back and forth, only glancing up to check that they were still listening. "Those kids seem awfully old for an accidental tub drowning."

Maybe she did have more tells than just the hair. Or maybe she was finally starting to relax around them just the tiniest bit. But why was she getting self-conscious _now? _She certainly hadn't hesitated to share her opinions up to this point.

...or had she? Come to think of it, aside from some general opinions on pop-culture and some incredibly detailed and specific ones about Dean, she hadn't really done that either. Sure she talked a lot, but when it came down to it, she said absolutely nothing. Now that's an aggravating talent.

"What makes you say that?" Sitting up in his chair, Sam looked thoughtful, giving Skye his full attention like she'd said something that piqued his interest. Wait, what _had_ she said? Something about accidental tub drownings? Maybe Dean really should pay attention. _If you paid closer attention, you'd have a restraining order._ ...creepy and possibly uncomfortably accurate. Great. He really was going to end up on a list somewhere. Or start day drinking. Maybe he just needed to get laid? Yeah. _That_ was the problem.

"It just-It feels fucky to me." The faint squeal of a worn spring and the rustle of cloth faded as Skye stopped fidgeting. If Dean hadn't been as focused as he was on the details and mostly ignoring the actual conversation, he'd never have seen the apprehension that sparked behind her eyes, quickly lost in the grin she flashed Sam. "I've just done a lot of babysittin' and dealt with a lot of kids and somethin's not right. Babies and toddlers drown in the tub on a depressingly regular basis, but older kids is fairly rare, unless maybe the kids had some kinda developmental issue."

And just like that, Dean felt another little piece of the puzzle fall into place. _Oh my God, she's shy._ It would certainly fit with everything else. She'd been doing a pretty good job of hiding it under a thick layer of sarcasm and bitchiness, but there wasn't a doubt in Dean's mind that he was right. Well, that was good to know. Would have been better to know _sooner_, but good to know.

Okay, he _really_ needed to pay attention. And maybe actually join the discussion. At least that was easy enough. "Like how much babysitting is a lot?" The smile hovering around Skye's lips twitched, faltering for a split-second and Dean realized that might have sounded more critical than he'd intended. Or rather, that she might take it that way. He wasn't quite sure if she was really that touchy or if he just came off as way more of an ass than he meant to. ...probably a little of both.

"Just want to know how much experience you've actually got." Yeah, that came out _so_ much better. Resisting the urge to facepalm so hard it hurt, Dean ran a hand through his hair and tried to figure out a way to reassure her without coming off like he was trying to reassure her and mostly just succeeding in giving himself a headache,"I meant-"

"I've been certified in CPR and first aid for infants and children since I was twelve." Crossing her arms, she leaned back in her chair and looked at him, leaving him the most uncomfortable feeling that she could maybe read him a lot better than he could read her. Because that wasn't a terrifying thought. And he was pretty sure she was laughing at him. Again. Though this time it didn't feel like she was mocking him, which made for a nice change of pace. "Also a food handler's license. The classes were free and people pay more for someone that knows the heimlich maneuver."

"Smart." Leaning his head back, Sam stretched his legs out, lacing his fingers together on his stomach and looking approvingly at Skyler, "So what are you thinking, Constance killed the children and then herself?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinkin'. Postpartum depression or even psychosis, maybe. It happens more than you'd think and it hasn't been studied as widely as it should be. Women's issues are often dismissed by the medical community and-" Cutting herself off, Dean could practically hear her jaw snap shut as she caught herself starting to go off on a tangent. "Call it intuition or whatever, but I'll bet you boys dinner that I'm right."

"Alright, let's go check it out."


	14. Carjacked

"Dean, just let her go." While Dean had quickly given up on trying to dump her in a motel room back in town, he and Skye had still spent the entire drive back to the bridge arguing about whether or not she'd stay in the car. Sam's money was on no.

"I'm sorry? _Let_ me? How exactly is he gonna stop me?"

"I have handcuffs and a very large trunk."

Sitting sideways in his seat, Sam watched the color drain from her face at the threat. Looked like that had struck a nerve. When she spoke, the venom in her voice promised grievous bodily injury to anyone who dared try it. "You think I'm unpleasant _now,_ just see how much worse I get when I'm _really_ pissed off."

"Because it's possible for you to get _worse_."

"I swear to God, Winchester-"

"Look, Skye's not convinced all this is real, right? I say let her come along and see for herself." Interrupting before they could start up again, Sam got their attention, or at least enough of it to make an argument in Skye's favor and short-circuit the whole 'it's dangerous' stance of Dean's. Life was dangerous, and Sam had a fairly good idea Skye had already figured that out all on her own, "This ghost only goes after men, it should be safe enough for a first gig."

"...fine, but if she gets hurt, I ain't cleanin' it up."

* * *

"So this is where Constance took the swan dive." Dean didn't think it was much to look at, that was for sure. The old metal bridge hung stolidly over the river, the sound of the water rushing below adding a soothing background. Or it would have been soothing if the whole place wasn't creepy as fuck. Between the cracked asphalt, the last few flutters of yellow crime scene tape, and the dim lights hung high on the struts overhead that were losing the battle to the darkness around them, it was a great location for something to pop out and yell 'boo'. Reaching out, Dean snagged the back of Skye's jacket as she leaned a little too far over the rail for his peace of mind. "Watch it, Tinkerbell, we don't need two ghosts around here makin' trouble."

"Look on the bright side, if I fall and die, you won't be stuck with me anymore."

That mental image wasn't nearly as appealing as she'd like to think, or he'd like to pretend, making him vaguely nauseous. Maybe he should lay off the burgers for a few days? Nah, that couldn't be it. "Then by all means. Maybe you can do a flip on the way down."

Raising a brow, Sam shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning against the rail next to Skye. "So you think Dad would have been here?"

Leaning a hip against the cold metal rail, Dean crossed his arms, peering briefly over the edge to the long drop below before turning to answer the question. Chewing his lip for a second, he shrugged, "Well, he's chasin' the same story and we're chasin' him, so...yeah, probably."

Dean firmly believed they'd find their father and hopefully sooner rather than later. They had to. Dean had exhausted all of his contacts within the first two days of meeting Skyler, hoping someone knew how to break this shit between them, and John Winchester was their last hope. Dean was not looking forward to the dressing down he was likely to get, though. Dad was guaranteed to rip him a new one for getting into this mess in the first place.

Running a hand through his hair, Sam pushed away from the rail, looking almost as tired as Dean felt. Falling into step beside his older brother, Skye trailing beside them, they headed slowly back toward the car, "So what now?"

What did he mean, what now? Wasn't that obvious? What, did Sam think that Dean was just going to give up and throw in the towel, just hope he eventually stumbled over something? "Now we keep digging until we find Dad. It might take awhile."

"Dean, I told you, I've got to get back by-"

"Monday. Right. The interview." Shit. With everything else, Dean had forgotten about that. Probably because he didn't want to think about it and other things just seemed more pressing. But come on, was Sam really going to go back and just leave him hanging when Dad was still missing? Maybe dead? And he was stuck with this little slip of a girl making his life miserable? "You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just gonna become some lawyer, marry your girl?"

"Yeah, maybe." Sam sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, looking at Dean like he just couldn't understand what the problem was, "Why not?"

That was just about the stupidest question Dean had ever heard. Why not? Seriously? There were twenty-two years of reasons why not, some of which Sam had already listed back in the stairwell of his apartment building. "Does Jessica know the truth about you? Does she know about the things you've done?"

"No, and she's not ever going to know."

"Well that's healthy." Raising a brow as Sam took a step toward him in what could be construed as a threatening manner, Dean just shook his head, not the least bit intimidated by Sam's posturing. Like he hadn't been whooping his little brother's ass for the last two decades and would probably do it a time or two more before all was said and done. "You can pretend all you want Sammy, but sooner or later you're gonna have to face up to who you really are."

"Who I really am? And you _really_ want to talk about pretending right now?" Taking a step closer to Dean, Sam lowered his voice, his eyes cutting to where Skye was leaning back against the rail, leaving no doubt as to exactly what he was talking about. "You can deny shit all you want but you're not exactly the picture of emotional health and stability here."

"That's not- Don't go there, Sam, you don't know what you're talkin' about." For fucks sake, Dean barely knew what was going on in his own damn head regarding the girl so there was no way in hell Sam did and if Sam didn't leave it _the fuck alone..._ "You're one of us, Sammy, whether you like it or not."

"No Dean, I'm not like you, this is not going to be my life."

Did Sam really think he was all that different just because he had ambitions, things he wanted to do with his life? Like Dean didn't? But other things were more important. Like saving lives. ...like family. "You can't walk away from this, Sammy. You have a responsibility."

"To Dad and his crusade? If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. Mom's gone, Dean, and she isn't coming back."

The words had barely left Sam's mouth before Dean found his fist tangled in Sam's jacket, Sam's back up against one of the rusted metal struts. It likely would have gone further than that, very possibly devolving into an actual fight, if Dean hadn't caught sight of Skye out of her corner of his eye. Judging from the pallor of her skin and the way she'd jumped about six inches, he'd just scared the absolute crap out of her. Wonderful. Releasing his hold on Sam, Dean consciously lowered his voice and softened his tone as he took a step back, regretting the display of temper "Don't talk about Mom like that."

Great. Today was just going so well. What next?

* * *

The cold metal rail was slick under Skye's hands from the constant spray of the river below. She closed her eyes and took a second to just breathe. Dean had scared the crap out of her, though she was pretty sure he really hadn't meant to. Dude had a temper and should maybe consider taking an anger management class. Oddly enough, she'd never once had the feeling that he'd do the same to her as he had to Sam, no matter how angry she happened to make him. B_ecause he's not the asshole you'd like to pretend he is._ If her brain could just give her five minutes of full denial, that'd be great, even downright restful.

"You okay there, Little Bit?"

"Hm?" Looking up as Sam joined her, she smiled at the concern. "Yeah, Andre, I'm good."

"Guys." Before either of them could say anything else, Dean spoke up from where he was standing a few feet away, facing the far end of the bridge.

Turning to see what was causing the sense of urgency in his voice, Skye was more than a little shocked at the sight in front of her. Standing on the rail, dressed all in white, was the same ethereally beautiful young woman that Skye had so recently seen on a computer screen.

The air around them stilled, growing colder; their breath billowing out in thick clouds as the temperature plummeted. A palpable feeling of hopelessness and despair swirled around them, sending shivers up the spine as the scent of death and decay grew suffocating. Slowly, the apparition turned her head to look at them, her dark eyes cold and lifeless as she tipped forward, falling soundlessly into the darkness below.

Within seconds, all three of them were at the rail where she went over, peering down into the river, all expecting to see a body. Because that's what happened when someone jumped off a bridge. There was no sign of her, though. No splash. No glimpse of a white dress or an outstretched hand. Nothing. She was just _gone._

...holy shit, what if Dean really had been telling the truth about _everything_. She'd entertained the thought before but not _seriously_. This was insane. This was legitimately insane.

Sounding as dumbstruck as Skye felt, Sam managed to squeeze out a few words, "Where'd she go?"

"I don't know."

Okay, not terribly comforting that Dean was also at a loss. On second thought, maybe she should have stayed in the car after all.

The headlights of the Impala flashed on, the high beams cutting through the darkness to spotlight the three of them. Falling back a few steps, Skye ended between the two reassuringly large men that flanked either side of her. On second-second thought, she was really glad she _hadn't_ stayed in the car. Clearing her throat, she made extra-sure there was no betraying note of fear when she spoke, though it did take a couple of tries to get the words out from around the lump in her throat. "...I think I do."

"What the…"

"Dude, how's she driving your car?"

In answer, Dean dug his hand into his pocket and produced his car keys, still very much on his person. Looked like a ghost didn't need keys. Wonder what her insurance premiums were…

The sharp squeal of tires split the air around them as the driver hit the accelerator. Skye's recent experience with Dean's driving could attest that this particular car could go from zero to sixty real damn quick and it was aimed squarely at them.

Dean was already moving. She'd known he was fast, but damn, what she'd seen so far was nothing to now, when it really mattered. Before she could even fully register what was happening, he'd grabbed her, spinning on a heel and shoving her hard to the far side of the road. Well, it was more like a throw, really. It should not surprise her at all that he was capable of picking her up and tossing her around like a ragdoll. Because that wasn't disconcerting.

If she hadn't already known how to take a fall from years of practice, she'd probably have ended up a lot worse than she did. As it was, scraped palms and bruised knees was a small price to pay for not being made into a pancake by a vengeful spirit.

She rolled to her feet just in time to see Sam and Dean take a leap over the rail, each dodging the front-end of the Impala by inches. Fear got her moving and she ran, booted feet scraping against the road before she came skidding to a stop at the spot where they'd jumped.

Ignoring her bruised and protesting knees, she reached out and grabbed the shoulder of Sam's jacket as he snaked an arm over the edge, helping him haul himself up. Granted, she wasn't a lot of help, but anything was better than nothing, right?

Within seconds Sam was kneeling beside her, both of them leaning out as far as they could to see into the river rushing far below them. Heart in her throat, she searched for some sign of Dean, eyes straining as she tried to spot him against the mud covered shore. What would be worse, seeing his unconscious body bobbing along the surface or not seeing him at all? A rush of fear tied her voice in knots as she joined Sam in calling for him, forcing the single word out through a throat gone dry, "Dean!"

"Is that concern I hear, Tink?" Exchanging a glance with Sam, she sagged back, relief leaving her temporarily speechless as Dean's voice floated up to them, "I must have hit my head. I'm hallucinating."

Zeroing in on him, she finally spotted him lying on the shore, the thick mud that coated him from head-to-toe making excellent camouflage. Jesus, he actually sounded like he was laughing. He'd scared the shit out of her and he was laughing. Though to be fair, so was Sam at this point.

"Yeah, he's fine."

"I gathered." Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back, ignoring the frigid metal that was slowly soaking through her clothing to chill her skin. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm the too-fast pounding in her chest, not wanting to look as shaky on the outside as she felt on the inside. And not just because she'd almost been run down, no, that part was actually remarkably fine. No, the adrenaline hadn't hit until she'd seen Dean sailing over the rail.

...best not to think about that one too hard.


	15. A Bridge Over Troubled Water

"One step forward, three steps back. Story of my life." Skye's voice penetrated Sam's brain, bringing his attention up from where he sat leaning back against a strut, watching Dean start up the steep hill that ran up to the road. "Should we go help him?"

"Hell no, let him suffer." Smiling as she sat down next to him, Sam judged Dean was more than far enough away to give them a decent few minutes before they were in any danger of being overheard. "Besides, it gives us a chance to talk."

"Yeah?" Settling in, she crossed her legs and leaned back, her weight on her hands as she cocked her head to look over at him, "And what are we talkin' about, Slim Jim?"

"You." From the look on her face, that was the last thing she expected Sam to say. Smiling at her surprise, Sam picked up a tiny piece of broken asphalt and lobbed it in her general direction, missing her by about a foot and a half. "Dean says he's been sitting across from you for a week and doesn't know a thing about you, but you seem friendly enough to me, so why is that?"

"He hasn't asked." Sam had to wonder if that were true, or if she'd just shut him down so hard the first time he'd tried that he hadn't tried again. "What do you wanna know?"

"Well, for starters, do you have a last name?"

"No, it's just 'Skye'. Like 'Cher' or 'Prince'." Her complete lack of expression and total deadpan delivery almost had him believing that until she grinned and shook her head at him, rolling her eyes for the millionth time that day. Hey, he'd dealt with weirder things, it's not like it was outside the realm of possibility. "Of course I have a last name, Sam. If you must know, it's Bleu."

"So your name is-"

"Skye Bleu. Yeah." From her tone and the wry smile she plastered on her face, Sam knew she'd heard every joke and line in the book. Who the hell named their kid 'Skye Bleu'? It was setting them up for it from day one. With a sigh, her smile turned a little more genuine, and she chuckled, "Now you get why I haven't told Dean. He'd have a field day."

"He'll find out, eventually."

"Probably." Turning to sit facing Sam, she pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on a knee. Going quiet, she looked at him for a long moment, as if debating whether it was worth opening her mouth. Apparently curiosity won. "Since we're gettin' to know each other and all, you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Go for it." Lacing his hands together, Sam leaned his head back and studied her as she formulated her question. Based on what Sam had seen over the last day, and what Dean had told him, he had a sneaking suspicion that Skye would be more than willing to open up to a friend, she just had to have a friend first. And maybe an excuse. Holding up a hand as she opened her mouth, he cut her off before she could start. "In fact, I'll make you a deal. Until I go home, I'll trade you question for question. I'll answer any question you ask, and promise total honesty, but I get to ask you one in return with the same stipulation."

"I don't-"

"That includes questions about Dean."

"How easy do you think I am?" She might laugh, but Sam could also see the gears turning in her head. He was hoping an inherently curious nature and the very human need for someone to talk to would win out over her reluctance to talk about herself and he was inordinately pleased when she eventually nodded agreement. "Alright, that's fair. First question then, how'd your Mom die?"

"Dean didn't tell you?"

"The first and only time I was stupid enough to use your mother as an insult, he didn't speak to me for six hours and played the same side of The Beatles on repeat the whole time." Ouch. Yeah, so Dean was a little touchy on the subject. A lot touchy. The man needed therapy. "I didn't know 'Hey Jude' before but I sure as hell do now. So no, Dean didn't tell me."

"Hey Jude is what Mom used to sing to him when he was little, and me too, I assume. Dad says it was the only song she knew all the words to." Lots and lots of therapy. We're talking astronomical bills here. Poor girl had absolutely no idea what she was in for, but Sam had the impression she could handle it just fine. "She died in a fire when I was about six months old and Dean was four. According to Dad, he walked into my nursery and found her burning to death on the ceiling. We don't know what did it or why and it's been Dad's mission to find out ever since.""

"And now Dean's, too, I take it. That explains so much." Wrapping her braid slowly around her hand, she nodded absently. This wasn't information Sam got to share on a regular basis, even Jess didn't know that last bit, and watching someone absorb it without question was a little unnerving. Then again, she had almost been run over by a ghost in a Chevy just a little bit ago. That kind of thing tended to make believers out of people.

"Doesn't it just?" With a smile, Sam stretched one leg out in front of himself, leaning over to pick up a handful of gravel. Rolling the pebbles around in his hand for a second, he started tossing them slowly in her direction, getting more than a few in her hair and earning him a middle finger. "My turn to ask something personal. What do you really think of my brother?"

"Don't believe in pulling your punches, do you?" Shaking the pebbles out of her hair, she picked up a few and lobbed them back, grinning when she got one in a pocket. Good aim. "I don't know. I don't hate him. I mean, he's not the worst person to ever exist or anything."

"That's total honesty?"

"I see being a dick runs in your family."

"Does being defensive run in yours?" Stretching out a foot, he nudged her leg with his boot and smiled to show he was only teasing. It wasn't at all difficult to play the friend with her. Too bad he wouldn't be around long enough to develop an actual friendship, she really wasn't half bad. Smart, funny, and didn't put up with Dean's bullshit. "You promised."

"Touche." Swatting at his foot, Skye made a face as she wiped a trace of mud off her jeans. She'd had them for all of two hours and they'd already earned two new rips in the knee and a couple of mysterious stains. About par for the course, in Sam's experience.

Keeping his mouth shut, Sam waited patiently, giving her ample time to answer the question. Eventually she sighed and shook her head, a ghost of a smile hovering somewhere around her lips, "Fine. He's ...alright, I guess." Moving a little closer to the strut behind her, she crossed her arms and leaned back against it, her attention shifting to Dean, only about two-thirds of the way up the slope at this point. Still plenty of time. Turning back to Sam, she sighed and gave up, lowering her voice so there was no chance of being overheard. "He's a decent enough guy, Sam. Funny, mostly good taste in music and is almost as cute as he thinks he is and if you tell him I said any of that, I will turn your ears into a keyring. Why do you want to know?"

"Is that your official question?"

"...yes."

"Because he's my brother and I love him. I just want to know you're not going to actually shoot him in his sleep someday when he does something particularly stupid." And maybe because it was evident to anyone with eyeballs she was just as attracted to Dean as he was to her. Okay, maybe not _quite_ as obvious, but still, it didn't hurt to see exactly where she stood. At least she didn't seem to hold on to denial quite as tightly as Dean was. "Why did you run off with a strange man in a shiny car in the first place?"

"I just—It's gonna sound crazy."

Blinking at her, Sam couldn't help but laugh as he held up a hand, gesturing to not only the bridge they sat on, but the entire situation. "_This_ isn't crazy?"

"You make an excellent point. Alright, just don't say I didn't warn you. I don't really know how to explain it. It just...you know, when I stumbled over Dean in that back alley, it was the first time I'd ever taken that shortcut? I saw him and it was like ...like everything stood still for a second and something clicked and then when he showed up at my door… It just felt like it was supposed to happen."

"So you're saying running into Dean was Fate?"

"Hey, I told you it was crazy." Crossing her arms, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, not looking terribly concerned that he might actually think she was nuts. Only fair, she'd thought Sam was nuts until an hour ago. "Besides, it's not like I was leavin' anything behind. No friends, a shitty job, an even shittier apartment, and my only family is a grandmother that doesn't know who I am anymore. A cute guy in a cool car didn't seem so bad at the time."

"My mother roasted to death on the ceiling, who am I to judge what's crazy?"

"If Dean heard you say that, it'd be you in the river."

"...probably."

* * *

"Sounded like you and Tink were gettin' awfully chummy." Popping the hood, Dean tried to ignore the layer of mud caked on his clothes and every square inch of bare skin as he leaned over the engine, giving everything a cursory inspection to make sure that bitch hadn't fried anything. "I could hear you guys giggling all the way from the river."

"Yeah, we had a nice talk." Leaning a hip against the side of the car, Sam crossed his arms and grinned at Dean, no doubt laughing at Dean's discomfort. And not just the physical. "She's a sweet kid."

"...traitor." Go figure she'd start opening up to Sam instead of him. Not that he could really blame her, but that didn't seem to make a lick of difference to the thread of resentment reaching up to strangle him. _Not resentment. Jealousy_. Oh goddammit, he was _not_ going to be jealous of his brother for making friends with that obnoxious little girl.

"So I take it you don't want to hear what I found out about her?"

Slowly turning to look up at Sam, Dean eyed him for a moment, studying his brother's stupid fucking face. In particular that equally stupid smirk currently decorating that stupid fucking face. "...were you pumping her for information, Sammy?" Was Sammy actually playing wingman here? Not that Dean needed one or had any intention of even trying to act on an attraction that was getting harder to deny by the minute. Maybe Sam's face wasn't that stupid after all.

Straightening, Dean leaned back enough to peer around the open hood to check on Skyler. Sitting in the backseat with the windows up and her headphones on, there was no way she could hear them but still, didn't hurt to be cautious. Lowering his voice, Dean turned back to Sam, "So what'd you find out?"

"Tell me one thing you like about her and I'll tell you."

"Dude, why are you bein' such a dick about this? Do you want to wake up with a mohawk?" Oh for fucks sake. Sam wasn't trying to play wingman, the dickhole was trying to play matchmaker, which Dean needed like an extra hole in the head. "She's got an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. Happy?"

"That's something about her body." Crossing his arms, Sam shook his head, lips thinning as he threw Dean a dirty look. "Quit thinking with Little Dean and name one thing you like about _her_."

"I am not-God I hate you sometimes." He was _not_ thinking with 'Little Dean', if anything, he'd been trying hard not to do just that. And hard was probably not the best word choice there.

With a sigh deep enough to feel in his toes, the curiosity gnawing at Dean's brain finally won out over his reluctance to be manipulated by his dillweed of a brother. "Fine. She's-she's...she's not stupid and she's almost as funny as she thinks she is."

"Funny, she said something similar about you, only I think the word was 'cute'-"

"Wait...she thinks I'm cute?" And just like that, Dean was in a much better mood. The dumbass grin trying to creep across his face though, that was just unacceptable. Taking a deep breath, he focused on what else Sam was saying, trying not to look as interested as he was. Not that he seemed to be fooling his brother at all. How in the hell was it easier to fool himself than that lanky son of a bitch? ...not that he was doing a terribly great job with that, either.

"-and I'm thinking maybe her mother was a hippie because her full name is Skyler Summer Bleu and she was working as a bartender, but really she's a dancer and has been studying hardcore since she was three. Oh, and she said you weren't the worst person to ever exist, so there's that."

Whatever train of thought Dean might have had regarding that ridiculous name came to a screeching halt as the wheels locked up. So much for trying not to think with 'Little Dean'. "...she's a what now?"

"I thought you'd appreciate that." 'Appreciate' wasn't quite the word Dean would have used. What possible good could come from him knowing this bit of information? It was official, the Universe hated him. Shit, what was Sam saying? "-you know, with the kind of training she's already had, I bet she'd make a decent fighter."

"Never gonna happen, she's six inches tall and weighs less than my boots." And what if she got hurt? Seriously hurt? ...or worse. The vivid mental image that shoved its way into Dean's head at the thought was enough to make him queasy and there was no way to blame that on a taco this time. The rapidly shrinking part of him that was holding onto denial with both hands could only deal with so much.

Closing his eyes for a second, Dean cleared his throat before latching onto the part of the conversation that wasn't going to break his brain to think about. At least, not the one on his shoulders. "...so when you say dancer, like, what kind of dancer are we talkin' about here?"

"Sorry, no poles or lap dances involved." Tucking his hands into his pockets, Sam perched on the bumper, looking up at Dean with that smirk still plastered on his face. "In her words, 'Think more Step Up and less Striptease."

"Yeah, right, and you're Channing Tatum." Shit. Did he just admit to having seen a dance movie? ...dammit. This was just not his day. But on the plus side, Tinkerbell thought he was cute and not the worst person to ever exist. Clearing his throat, Dean reached over and adjusted the oil cap before waving Sam out of the way so he could close the hood. "Well, car looks alright. Whatever she did to it, it seems fine now. That Constance chick, what a _bitch_."

"Not even going to thank me for the information? Midget's right, you have no manners." Glancing over at the 'Midget' in question, her voice faintly audible as she sang along to some song or other, Sam smiled before looking back at Dean. "So where's the trail go from here, Romeo?"

"I'm not gonna thank you, but I might let you live to your next birthday." Sinking down onto the hood, Dean closed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion hit him, dragging at his shoulders, making his thoughts thick and heavy. "...I don't know, Sam."

Wrinkling his nose as the breeze picked up, wafting the stench of river mud in his direction, Sam just couldn't keep his big mouth shut. "...you smell like a toilet."

"_That_ I know."


	16. Obsession' by John Winchester

"Oh darlin', it's just what I've always wanted. Bedbugs, dust mites, and fleas, oh my." Pulling into the parking lot of the closest craptacular motel twenty minutes later, Skye spoke up for the first time since they'd left the bridge. Grabbing her knapsack, she flung open the door, escaping the confines of the car before Dean shifted into park. Sniffing herself, she couldn't tell if the smell had burrowed into her or not. Ugh.

From the looks of it, Sam was just as eager to get away from the all-enveloping stench of dirty river mud, jumping out of the car just a fraction of a second after Skye. Hell, if Dean could have run away from himself, he probably would have.

* * *

The buzzer above the officer door went off when they opened it. The three of them filed inside and caught the attention of the front desk manager. Looking somewhere between ancient and dead, the old man's wrinkled face was delightfully unconcerned at Dean tracking sludge into his clean lobby. Shabby, sure, but clean.

Retrieving his now soggy wallet, Dean sighed deeply when it squished, dripping everywhere. A trail of murky water followed as he dug out his credit card and tossed it onto the counter in front of the old man. "One room. Two beds."

"Please," Skyler prompted, the most saccharine smile she could muster pasted on her face. Dean threw a nasty glare her direction at the correction, which she promptly returned with a middle finger.

Turning back to the Ancient One behind the counter, Dean unclenched his jaw enough to sound almost normal. "...please."

Reluctantly picking up the card, the old man held it between two fingers, as if just looking at it could spread the mess around. At least, that was the look he gave before the double-take, "You guys havin' a reunion or somethin'?"

That was more than enough to get the boy's interest, Dean's eyes narrowing as the old man caught his full attention, "What do you mean?"

"The other guy, Burt Aframian, he came in and bought out a room for the whole month."

Struck momentarily speechless, the boys exchanged a look, caught off-guard. She couldn't really blame them. What were the chances they'd just randomly end up at the same shitty motel where John still had a room rented? Okay, so the town was pretty small, but still, it didn't really feel like a coincidence. And the boys were still dumbstruck...

"Yeah, that'd be our Dad." Pushing past Sam and skirting around Dean, she made her way to the counter and leaned against it, giving the old man the sweetest most charming smile she could manage on no sleep and an empty stomach, "Can you tell us what room he's in, please?"

"Sure, no skin off my nose." Dropping their room key and the credit card into her hand, he nodded in the direction of the street, "Room ten, just over there. Can't give you the key though, that's against policy."

She didn't really get the feeling a locked door was about to stop Dean Winchester, or hell, even delay him by more than a minute, "That's alright. We'll head over there later, see if Dad's in for the night yet."

"Hey uh, what the hell he get into, anyway?"

"He uh-" Glancing over her shoulder at the man who was currently doing a remarkable imitation of Pigpen, Skye had to take a second to bite back a giggle before turning back to the old man. Corners of her lips twitching, she kept a straight face when she finally answered, "...he got into a fight with a port-a-potty and lost. He's not the brightest crayon in the box, if you know what I mean."

"Oh yeah, I getcha." Leaning over the counter, the old man lowered his voice, "I had a cousin like that, just not quite right. Ended up puttin' her in a home."

"...now there's an idea."

* * *

Okay, closer to three minutes, but still, she hadn't been wrong, a door hadn't delayed Sam much at all. What, did John sit them down one Sunday evening and play 'Pick The Padlock' like it was the Winchester version of Family Fun Night?

Doing her best to avoid that pesky needing to breathe thing, Skye tried not to gag at the revolting smell rolling off Dean as she followed Sam inside. "Jesus, it's like bein' punched in the face with a dead fish that's been left to rot in the sun for a week."

"She's not wrong."

"Thanks so much for that, you're both a positive delight to be around." Pointing out the thin wire that ran just inside the room, Dean shut the door behind them and threw the deadbolt before flipping on the overhead lights. "Watch where you step."

Any comeback that Skye might have had died in the back of her throat as she got a good look at John's room. Her first impression was chaos, but that wasn't quite right. The rows upon rows of newspaper articles and handwritten notes that lined the walls proved that there was some kind of logic to it all, it just wasn't obvious to her. Maybe because she wasn't crazy. _Are you totally sure about that?_ Brushing off the stray thought, she turned to examine the rest of the room. Odds and ends and half-rotten food laid strewn about on every available flat surface. Was that a half-eaten burger just sitting on the nightstand? And why was Dean _sniffing_ it? Gross.

"I don't think he's been here for a couple days, at least."

There was no way he could possibly know that from sniffing a stale McDouble. Was there? Either way, still gross.

Examining the lines Dean had avoided stepping on, Sam took a knee, picking up what appeared to be a sea-shell before tossing it back down. "Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried, trying to keep something from coming in."

Curiosity warred with some serious misgivings as she stepped further into the room. This was all absolutely crazy and she was so far out of her depth she could no longer see land, but she had to admit it was certainly interesting. What the hell was all this?

"Someone wanna lend me the CliffsNotes on all this?" She was itching to reach out and touch everything, to satisfy her curiosity about all the weird knickknacks and books scattered everywhere. To prevent herself from giving in to the urge, she wrapped her arms around her stomach as she tried to examine every flyer and news article at once. Okay, curiosity was definitely winning, "Maybe startin' with the salt and shells?"

"Salt wards off spirits; it's a purifying element. Like fire, they can't cross it." Stepping up closer to the wall, Dean inspected what appeared to be a handwritten missing person flyer before glancing back over his shoulder at her. "And cats-eye shells are typically used to ward off the evil eye."

"Is there, like, an encyclopedia about this stuff somewhere that I could get my hands on?"

"Maybe Sammy can make you up a required reading list."

"...seriously?"

* * *

Adroitly avoiding traps, salt, shells, and whatever else littered the floor, Sam stepped carefully across the small space to join his brother by the far wall. He took in the dozens of newspaper articles and flyers that Dean had been studying for the last few minutes. "What do you got here?"

"Centennial Highway victims, looks like." Taking half a step back, Dean frowned, tapping the corner of one of the larger missing person posters and leaving a dirty smear behind. "I don't get it though. I mean, different men. Different jobs. Different ages and ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

Not bothering to answer, Sam let his eyes wander slowly along the pages, skimming the copious amounts of information his father had put together before the words 'Woman in White' caught his eye. Taking a step closer, he took a good look at the pages pinned directly beneath the black-on-white letters. Staring back at him was the article from The Jericho Herald and the smiling face of Constance Welch. "Dad figured it out."

"What do you mean?"

Moving out of his way so Dean could take a closer look, Sam stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, nodding toward what he'd discovered. Or rather, what his father had discovered. How had Dad figured it out, putting all the puzzle pieces together so fast? Sam wasn't sure whether to be kind of proud or exceedingly frustrated and finally settled for something in between the two. "He found the same article we did. Constance Welch is a Woman in White."

"Why, you sly dogs." Looking up at the pictures of the missing men staring back at them, Dean shook his head at the lot of them before turning back to Sam, little puffs of dirt rising in noxious clouds as the river mud started to dry and flake off his skin and clothing. That was hygienic. "Alright, so if we're dealin' with a Woman in White, Dad would've found the corpse and destroyed it."

"Maybe she has another weakness."

"Dad would want to be sure, he'd dig her up." Because that was such a fun part of the job, digging up corpses, dousing them in salt, and setting them on fire. But hey, whatever worked, "Does it say where she's buried?"

"Not that I can tell. If I were Dad though, I'd go ask her husband, if he's still alive."

"Why don't you see if you can find an address." Wrinkling his nose as he dislodged a cloud of dust, Dean waved a hand in front of his face to clear the air, "I'm gonna go get cleaned up. Hey Tink…" Turning around to address the girl, Dean's voice trailed off and Sam looked up in time to see an inscrutable expression on Dean's face. "Nevermind."

Glancing around to see what Dean found so amusing, Sam couldn't help but smile. He hadn't even noticed when Skye had cleared off the bed and curled up, though it certainly explained why she'd been so quiet the last little while. From what he could tell, the girl was out cold, her braid curled around a shoulder and a hand tucked under her cheek. Now wasn't that the cutest thing?

"Hey Dean," Speaking up before Dean could step into the bathroom, Sam shrugged a shoulder at his brother and gave a half-smile as he dredged up an apology. Better to clear the air now, none of them needed any more tension around them than there already was. "About what I said earlier about Mom and Dad… I'm sorry."

Holding up a hand like Dean was afraid Sam would try to hug him, because that was going to happen, Dean smiled, "No chick flick moments."

"Alright. ...jerk."

"Bitch."


	17. Scents and Sensibility

"..._Hey, it's me. It's about 10:20. I just wanted to call and see if you were okay. I know you're probably busy but I miss you. Call me back as soon as you can. And Sam? Be safe, alright? I love you. I'll talk to you later…" _Perched on the edge of a hideously green plastic dining chair, Sam pressed his phone to his ear, smiling as Jessica's voice came over the line. He was sorry he'd missed her but maybe it was better that he had. He knew she was probably worried sick and he wanted to call but he hated lying to her. Granted, he hated the idea of telling her the truth just a touch more… Besides, it was just another couple of days and he'd be home, right? He could send her a quick text letting her know he was okay and just talk to her Monday morning. She'd be in class now anyway.

Hitting save on the voicemail, Sam flipped his phone closed and tucked it back into his pocket, closing his eyes for just a moment and enjoying the relative quiet. It was nostalgic, really, the sounds of the infrequent cars on the highway running by the rundown motel, faint voices from what was most likely the TV in the next room over, the constant hum of the giant neon sign outside.

He'd made his choice years ago and, though he missed his family, he hadn't really regretted it since. He just couldn't bring himself to feel that driving sense of vengeance and duty that drove the others. He had a foundation for a real life now, a career, a family of his own. Maybe if he had any memories of his mother, of a happy home life, it'd be different but he didn't and it wasn't and there wasn't any reason to start thinking about it all now.

Pushing himself to his feet, Sam paced the room restlessly before coming to a stop in front of the mirror that graced the wall across from the bed where Skye lay sleeping. Draped across the frame was a rosary he recognized as John's, a gift from a friend of his, a pastor named Jim. Tucked beneath that was a faded old photograph, much worn and creased.

John was sitting on the hood of the Impala, Dean sitting beside him and Sam sitting on John's knee. Sam must have been about four years old, maybe five, making Dean around nine or so. Sam certainly couldn't say they looked like a happy family, but not as miserable as they'd ended up.

Taking the picture, he pulled out his wallet, tucking it carefully inside. There was no telling if John would ever get back here to get his things and Sam didn't want it left behind, no matter what kind of family they were.

* * *

The creak of the bathroom door brought Sam out of the half-doze he'd fallen into, stuffed into the only armchair in the room. And not a terribly comfortable one. Stifling a yawn, he cracked an eye in time to see Dean step out of the bathroom, towel in one hand and shirt in the other. Too bad Half Pint was out, he'dve loved to see her reaction to a bare-chested Dean. _There'd_ _definitely be drool_.

"Feel better?" He certainly looked better, and Sam couldn't smell rotting fish anymore, which was always a plus.

"Much." Running the towel through his hair one last time, Dean tossed it into a corner, knocking the alarm clock off the nightstand. Not that he seemed to care. Yanking his t-shirt on over his head, Dean shrugged it into place, scrutinizing Skyler the entire time. Blink once in awhile, dude. "You think she's really out?"

Raising a brow, Sam glanced at the girl in question, noting the steady rise and fall of her chest, not to mention the way she hadn't so much as twitched in the last forty minutes. "I think if she were any more out, she'd be dead."

Apparently that was just what Dean was hoping to hear, wasting no time in grabbing Skyler's leather bag off the floor and dumping its contents out on the already cluttered table next to Sam.

"What are you doing?" Jumping to his feet, Sam remembered to keep his voice down, his gaze flickering toward the unmoving figure on the bed. "You know she's going to kill you, right?"

"She could try." Unrepentant, Dean pawed through her things, brushing aside jeans, t-shirts, and some ridiculously retina-searing socks. Where did you even get socks that color? "Pretty sure I could bounce her like a basketball. Or I could just hold a hand against her forehead, she'd pinwheel."

Crossing his arms, Sam eyed Dean for a second, wondering if his brother was finally going off the deep end. "I swear, if you start sniffing underwear, I'm leaving."

Tossing Skye's clothes back into her bag and leaving her toiletries on the table, Dean looked up at Sam with a disgusted twist to his lips. "...man, you are a twisted little freak, aren't you?"

"Says the man going through his crush's clothes."

"She's not-I do not...Fuck you, dude." Pausing in the middle of uncapping Skye's deodorant just long enough to flip Sam off, Dean sniffed it before holding it out to Sam. "What does this smell like to you?"

"Seriously? No." Holding up his hands, Sam shook his head, not about to go there. This was the kind of thing restraining orders were issued over. Not that Skye would be able to do that, which actually made it more creepy, not less. " I'm not going to sniff her things. What are you even _doing_?"

"I'm tryin' to figure out what that scent is that's gotten into every fuckin' corner of my fuckin' car. It's like...flowers or some shit." Dean frowned, tossing the deodorant back in the bag, quickly followed by her shampoo and conditioner after he tested them. "...where is her perfume?"

Sinking back down into his chair, Sam stretched his long legs out, smirking at his brother. Was the dude insane or just really hyper-focused? Obsessive maybe? It ran in the family. "Dean, she doesn't wear perfume."

"Yeah. Okay. Sure she doesn't." Snagging Skye's jacket from the back of the chair she'd tossed it over, Dean sniffed the collar, making a face before tossing it at Sam, forcing him to catch it or drop it. Not that it'd hurt the denim any, but rude. "Are you tellin' me you can't smell that?"

Shaking his hair out of his eyes, Sam reluctantly gave in and held the jacket up to his nose, getting the faintest smell of sweat and shampoo. Normal girl smell. Not bad, by any means, but not exactly something to write home about. Or flip out over. "I don't smell anything. Have you considered that you may just be insane?"

"I'm not-You know what, Sam, why don't you go somewhere that's not here." Looking just so done with everything, especially Sam, Dean dug the other motel key out of his pocket and shoved it into Sam's hand, snatching Skye's jacket out of Sam's grip and tossing it back over the chair. "We already paid for the other room and check out isn't til eleven. Go sleep before I end up knockin' your ass out."

"Because it's my fault you're hallucinating." Accepting the key, Sam glanced at the girl passed out on the bed before looking at his brother and raising a brow. "And you're going to do what, exactly?"

"And what is that supposed to mean, _exactly?"_ Glowering at Sam, Dean crossed his arms, drawing himself up to his full height and trying for intimidation. Because that worked so well on anyone that actually knew Dean. "Not real sure I like what you're insinuating. What kinda guy do you think I am?"

"I know exactly what kind of guy you are, Dean." Tucking the motel key in his pocket, Sam got to his feet and stretched, grinning at his offended brother. "Which is why I know she's perfectly safe. You read too much into things." Or Sam just liked implying them to get under Dean's skin. Both was also an option.

"Good, get the hell out." Striding across the room, Dean unlocked the door and jerked it open, motioning for Sam to move his ass. "Be back by ten."

Taking the invitation, Sam stopped just long enough to grab his bag from where he'd dropped it by the door earlier when he'd gone out to get their things. And had Dean even said thank you? Of course not. Midget was right, the man had no manners. "God you're bossy. How has she not shot you yet?"

"Like I'd let her touch my gun."

How was Sam supposed to pass that one up? Stepping out the door, he couldn't resist throwing a parting shot over his shoulder, "Pretty sure you're hoping she'll do just that."

"...fuck off, Sammy."

* * *

Stifling a yawn, Dean closed the door and threw the deadbolt, double-checking the chain lock before turning and leaning back against the solid wood. It had been a long day, hell it had been a long _life,_ and his unexpected swim had not helped any. He was beyond wiped. And of course there was only the one bed, so it looked like he'd be sleeping in the chair tonight. _The bed's big enough, she'd never know._

Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Great way to wind up with a pissed off pixie yelling at him about invading her privacy or some other such bullshit. Which reminded him that he needed to repack her bag like she'd had it or she really would be screaming at him come morning. Was Sam just messing with Dean when he said he couldn't smell her? Or was Dean really going crazy? Well, crazi_er. _He'd be the first to admit that he hadn't been quite right for a long time now. And to be fair, he hadn't found any perfume ...but there was no way that light honeysuckle scent could all be in his head, right? Or maybe her deodorant or something just smelled differently when it was actually on her. Okay. Whatever. Worry about it later. _Worry. Obsess. Same dif._ Fuck off, too tired.

Making his way across the room, he grabbed the single armchair from where Sam had shoved it back against the table, moving it to the other side of the bed and up against the wall, where he'd have a clear view of the door and an even clearer one of the girl. For safety reasons.

Sinking down into the chair, he ran his hands through his hair before scrubbing them over his face, wondering when exactly his life had started going right off the rails. Stupid question, he knew exactly when, down to the hour if not the minute. Leaning back in the chair, he couldn't keep his sleep-deprived thoughts-or his eyes-from straying in directions he'd rather they didn't.

She really was cute. Pretty, even, at least when she wasn't bitching at him. And okay, maybe then too. _Just 'pretty', huh?_ Alright, fine, she was probably the most physically appealing young woman he'd ever had the misfortune to meet. Mentally, too, once you got around the prickly bits. He'd never met anyone that not only got most of his pop-culture references and dumbass jokes, but had more than a few of her own. And that wasn't even mentioning the few glimpses he'd gotten of what he suspected was a sweet and thoughtful girl hidden under all that. So where did that leave him? ...that left him going right back to denial first thing in the morning, that's where. But for now, at least, he could admit-if only in the deepest corners of his own mind-that if he'd had to pick from all the girls he'd ever come across to be stuck with, he'd probably pick her, attitude and all.

* * *

Waking from the doze he'd slipped into, Dean shivered, an icy finger of air slipping down the back of his neck and burrowing under his t-shirt. His hand automatically moved to go for a weapon he didn't have before it registered that nothing was wrong, it was just cold.

Grumbling, he pushed himself to his feet, making his way to the heater jutting out from the wall beneath the window. One of those all in one heating/air-conditioning/fan units that never worked quite right on any setting. Great. Flipping it on, he glowered at it as it hummed to life, eventually blowing out air that was a few degrees warmer than the room. Better than nothing but not good enough.

Taking a quick look around, Dean found a blanket thrown in a corner and a leather jacket he recognized as one of John's stuffed between the nightstand and the wall. That'd work. Tossing the jacket onto the armchair, he skirted around the bed to the other side and the petite brunette curled up there. If he was cold, no doubt she was slowly turning into a pixie-sicle, though it hadn't woken her yet. Good. Maybe she'd be more pleasant after a decent night's she wasn't going to get fully dressed and freezing.

Well, he could at least take care of parts of the problem. Balling up the rough woolen blanket, he tossed it down on the bed next to her, debating with himself over whether this was really necessary. Not to mention the risk of waking her. Oh just do it, for fucks sake.

"...hey, it's me." Keeping his voice soft, he decided a warning might be less of a risk than her waking up and punching him in the face. "I'm just gonna take your boots off, alright?"

With a mumble that Dean chose to take as permission, he stepped around to the foot of the bed, a knee on the edge of the mattress as he reached for one booted foot. Slipping one hand under a calf and the other under a heel, it didn't take him long to ease off first one boot and then the other, getting only a mutter and a little restless shifting from Skyler.

A smile twitching at the edge of his lips, Dean stepped back around and retrieved the blanket from where he'd tossed it. Shaking it out, he draped it over the sleeping girl, unable to resist the desire to tuck it in around her.

"...thank you." His hand on the hem of the blanket as he pulled it up to her shoulders, Dean twitched at the sound of her voice, looking up to see warm brown eyes looking back at him. Nowhere close to fully awake, she smiled, her hand making its way out from under the blanket to briefly rest on the back of his before she was out again.

"Any time, Tinkerbell."


	18. Should've Been A Cowboy

Waking slowly, Skye pried her eyes open and blinked at the sunlight flooding in through the thin curtains, debating for just a second whether it was worth it to get up or if she could maybe roll over and go back to sleep for a little while longer. Wait...where the hell was she?

Pushing off the itchy blue blanket that she didn't remember grabbing, Skye pushed herself up, giving the room a once-over as memory flooded back before panic could set in. Jericho. Sam. Dean. Oh yeah…

Falling back onto the bed, her weight on her elbows, Skye looked over at where Dean sat. Or rather, slept. Propped up in an armchair pulled close to the other side of the bed, his booted feet up on the table and an unfamiliar leather jacket draped over him, he couldn't possibly be comfortable. Then again, this was the man who'd insisted that sleeping in the car was perfectly fine and truckstop bathrooms were a good place for a whore bath. Neither of which was true, thank you very much.

Sam was nowhere to be found, so she could only assume he'd either gone out or, most likely, had gone to catch a few zzz's elsewhere. They'd rented a room with two queen-sized beds, after all, and more fool Dean for not taking advantage. _And why do you think that is?_ Not a question she was awake enough— or wanted to— answer. Maybe after a shower. And like ten years. And a lobotomy.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, it took her a second to realize she wasn't wearing her boots, and she knew damn well she hadn't taken those off. And that explained the blanket, too. The vaguest sleep-soaked memory tickled at the back of her mind, Dean taking off her boots and tucking her in. Wait, had he actually tucked her in? ...pretty sure, yeah. Dammit. If he actually started being sweet, she was doomed and she knew it, denial or no denial. Might as well just shoot herself now.

But not until after a shower. Glancing at the clock, she frowned when she couldn't find it, though he could have sworn it was on the nightstand when she'd sat down last night. Whatever. Winchester had a watch.

Wincing at the crunchy carpet under her stocking feet, Skye stood, shuffling quietly around the bed to where he slept hunched in the armchair. Snagging the collar of the leather jacket, she lifted it away from where it lay over Dean's crossed arms, pulling it down just enough to try and get a glimpse of the clunky black plastic he called a watch. Thing was hideous and probably came out of a cereal box. ...and she couldn't see the watchface from this angle.

Taking a breath, she briefly debated just hopping in the shower anyway, but now it was more the principle of the thing. She just wanted to know the time, dammit, it shouldn't take an internal debate.

Rolling her eyes at her own dumbassery, Skye steeled herself, reaching over and grabbing Dean's wrist, turning it to see the ticking hands marking the hour.

* * *

"...and good mornin' to you, too, Sunshine." Pinned with her back firmly against Dean's chest, Skye leaned her head back, peering up at him with wide eyes. Her pulse fluttering under his hand, the warmth of her body soaked through his t-shirt, bringing him fully awake as effectively as a bucket of ice water. Why had he ever thought she'd run cold? "Remind me to be more careful about wakin' you up next time."

"The hell…" Easing his fingers off her throat, Dean blinked the sleep out of his eyes and frowned down at her, noting the smile that was trying to make its way across her lips. She didn't seem nearly as scared as anyone in their right mind probably would have been, though that wasn't really saying much. Girl was nuts. _In all the best ways._ "What were you doing?"

"Just tryin' to check the time." Swallowing a laugh, Skye smirked up at him. Why was she laughing? Shouldn't she be freaking out right now? She didn't even like handshakes let alone full-body contact. "...so were you havin' a real great dream or you just happy to see me?" Well, that explained the amusement and also why the tips of her ears were turning red. Which was _not_ helping.

"...Christ." Feeling his own skin flush, Dean released her, giving her a light shove in any direction that was away from him. Running a hand through his hair, he closed his eyes for a second, trying not to exacerbate his current problems by thinking about how she'd felt pressed up against him. Or about the dream he'd been so abruptly woken from.

Standing near the foot of the bed, hands tucked in the back pockets of her jeans, Skye gave him a too-thorough onceover that made him thankful he wasn't wearing tighter jeans. Or sweats, God forbid. "If _that's_ 'cause of Christ, then you have more issues than I originally thought."

"Pretty sure it's called biology."

Cocking her head, that lip twitch grew into a full-on smile when she met his eyes, speaking as matter-of-factly as if they were discussing the weather. "No, pretty sure it's called an erection."

Oh, for the love of... If he hadn't been blushing before, he certainly was now, and again, _not helping._ "Have you ever had a thought you didn't say out loud?"

"Sure, all the time. You should hear the one's I'm not sayin' right now." Shrugging a shoulder, she blew a few stray strands of hair out of her face, flashing him a smile. She looked perfectly innocent and yet, for just a second, he thought he saw a very not-innocent smirk, and then just like that, it was all sweetness and light again and he'd swear she was the most naive thing on the planet. How did she _do_ that?

Sinking down into the chair he'd slept in, Dean leaned back, arms crossed as he studied the confusing little snip of a thing standing a few feet away. "I'm startin' to think you're a little messed in the head, Tink."

"...just startin' to? Where have you been this whole time, Winchester?"

* * *

Hot water washing over overheated skin, Skye closed her eyes, trying hard not to replay the most recent events of the morning in her head. Unsuccessfully. Several times. By rights, she should have been absolutely terrified when she'd blinked and suddenly had a hand at her throat. And she most likely would have been if it had been absolutely anyone else. So why hadn't she had a full-blown panic attack? _You know why_.

Because it was Dean, that's why, and she knew straight down to the depths of her soul that he'd never hurt her. Not in a million years. He just wasn't that kind of guy. _And?_ And maybe because she knew he liked her. And maybe because she liked him. And maybe this whole situation was incredibly fucked up and they needed to find John before they got in any deeper. Because, and listen up Brain, _Dean Winchester is a horrible, terrible, messed-up, no-good idea. _Got that? Good. _Bet he'd be a lot of fun, though_. Seriously? She couldn't even hug someone without hyperventilating and her brain was trying to convince her he'd be _fun_? The fuck? Dean wasn't the only one that needed all the therapy. Besides, she wasn't looking for 'fun'. She wasn't looking for anything.

...still, no harm in just thinking about it, right?

* * *

After a brief hunt to find the television remote, Dean returned to the armchair he'd slept in. Clicking on the TV, he mindlessly flipped through channels, trying to focus on anything besides the sound of the shower and the naked girl in it. Rather unsuccessfully, but hey, it was worth a shot. Anything to avoid needing another cold shower, the one last night had been plenty, thanks.

God, did she have to take so long? Taking a peek at the watch on his wrist, Dean had to check that it was still working when he saw she'd only been in there for about seven minutes. Great. With a sigh, he slouched down in his seat, concentrating on Billy Mays exclaiming the virtues of OxiClean.

"..._I said I wanna touch the earth, I wanna break it in my hands. I wanna grow something wild and unruly…"_

And there went Billy Mays. Was she singing in the shower? She was _singing_ in the _shower_. He'd heard her hum to the radio and sing under her breath, but no not actually singing. Even now she wasn't terribly loud, but thin walls and bathroom tile meant it didn't take much for the neighbor two doors down to hear how your day was going. And she wasn't half-bad, either. She wouldn't win any awards or anything, but she wasn't hard to listen to. ...country, though? Really?

"..._I wanna sleep on the hard ground in the comfort of your arms on a pillow of bluebonnets and a blanket made of stars…."_

Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd had a woman singing in his shower. Almost a decade, at least. Not that his brief encounters with women didn't occasionally involve showers, but there really wasn't any singing going on. Thumb straying toward the mute button before he quite realized it, he found himself leaning his head back, eyes drifting closed as he listened to the unexpectedly domestic noises from the other side of the wall.

"..._I wanna walk and not run, I wanna skip and not fall. I wanna look at the horizon and not see a building standing tall. I wanna be the only one for miles except for maybe you and your simple smile…"_

Brushing off the nagging voice in the back of his head saying it was this kind of thing that was going to get him in over his head, Dean let himself relax for the first time in days, thoughts drifting unrepentantly in directions he knew damn well they shouldn't.

"_...cowboy take me away, fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue. Set me free oh, I pray, closer to Heaven above and closer to you…"_

A knock at the door interrupted Dean's daydreams just as they were getting to the really good bits, wiping away vague visions and half-formed desires to bring him crashing rudely back to reality. Well, it'd been nice while it lasted, but probably for the best, it really wasn't helping his issues any. Dragging himself out of the armchair, Dean made his way across the room to let Sammy in. "Mornin'."

"Morning." Hands in the pockets of his tan jacket, Sam smiled cheerfully at Dean from under a thatch of shaggy hair, slipping past him and into the dim interior of the motel room as the sound of the water running in the other room cut off. "Sleep good?"

"I slept, that's good enough." Slept. Dreamed. Vividly. Then woke up to the subject of that dream pressed up against him and now she was wet and naked about fifteen feet away and there was jack all he could do about it. Maybe he should take up jogging. "I'm starving. You wanna go grab a bite?" Because if he didn't get out of that room soon, he was going to go stark raving mad. Or explode. One or the other. Both options were guaranteed to get messy. "There's a diner down the street and I think Tink's about done in the bathroom-"

The dull roar of a hair-dryer Dean hadn't known existed hummed to life, cutting him off. He couldn't complain too much though, because the entertainment resumed right about then. Of course he couldn't really enjoy it because Sam was right fucking there. ...and interesting song choice.

"_...well you're a real tough cookie with a long history of breaking little hearts like the one in 's okay, let's see how you do it, put up your dukes, let's get down to it…"_

"-or not."

Chuckling at whatever ideas were spinning around in his gigantic head, Sam walked around Dean and made his way through the maze, sprawling into Dean's armchair and taking it over as if he owned the place. "Sure, I could eat."

"_... you come on with it, come on, you don't fight fair. That's okay, see if I care. Knock me down, it's all in vain, I get right back on my feet again…"_

_So could I._ Shoving _that_ thought right back where it sprouted from, Dean walked over to the bed and dropped down onto the sagging mattress. Elbows on his knees, he ran a hand through his hair, unable to tune Skye out despite his best efforts. "...that probably doesn't mean anything, right?"

"What? Skye?" Slinging a leg over the arm of the chair, Sam smiled at Dean, no doubt enjoying the chance to talk about Dean's alleged feelings. Or some shit. He was getting way too much amusement out of this whole situation. Dick. "It might. I mean, could be she's just getting comfortable enough to sing around you. Could also mean she's either very self-aware and has you pegged." Stretching and lacing his hands behind his head, Sam shook his head, his smile turning into a smirk and an eyeroll. "Or it could mean you bought her a bunch of compilation CDs and her options are limited."

"_...well you're a real tough cookie with a long history of breaking little hearts like the one in me. Before I put another notch in my lipstick case,you better make sure you put me in my place…"_

Standing, Dean nodded absently as he walked over to the bathroom door and knocked, trying to get Skye's attention above the noise of the hairdryer and her own singing. "...makes sense." A half-smile tugging up one corner of his lips, Dean nodded toward Skyler's bag, still sitting on the table next to Sam. "Except she didn't take her CD player into the bathroom."

"..._hit me with your best shot…"_

* * *

"You sure you don't wanna go, Sam?" Sitting at the foot of the bed, Skye ran a brush through her hair, twisting the thick, dark mass up into her customary braid with the ease of long practice. This was the first time Dean had seen it down and there was a lot more of it than he'd thought there would be, falling just past her waist when she stood. _I bet it's just as soft as it looks, too._

"Yeah, I'm sure." Chuckling, Sam reached over and smacked Dean's arm, tearing his attention away Skye before he could make an ass of himself. Brothers, sometimes they had their uses. "I think I'm just going to hang out, maybe call Jess. Think you could bring me back a BLT and a salad? Maybe some fruit if they've got any."

"Man after my own heart." Patting her braid into place over her shoulder, she leaned over to snag her boots and flashed Sam a smile. "Drink?"

"Just water would be great, thanks."

"You're very welcome." Standing, she stretched, grabbing her jacket and shrugging it on before snagging her bag off the table. Slinging a strap over her shoulder, she looked over at Dean. "You about ready, Winchester?"

"I've been waitin' on you, remember?" Straightening from where he leaned against the table, Dean snagged the leather jacket he'd found the night before and headed for the door. Unlocking the deadbolt, he twisted the knob, motioning for Skye to precede him out the door. "Come on, Pixie Stick."

"...that's a new one."


	19. Book 'Em, Danno

"Hey!"

Grabbing the strap of Skye's bag, Dean ignored her protests, drawing her attention to the cop car parked in front of the office. And the officers currently talking to the motel manager. And the manager just casually lifting a hand to point right at them. How nice of him. "Are you armed?"

"What? No, I don't generally walk around armed." Holding out a hand for her bag, she slipped it off and gave it to him, relinquishing it without a fight. Would wonders never cease. Maybe she knew when to shut up and do what she was told after all. "At least, not for a couple of years now. "

Not anymore? Another note to add into his growing 'the fuck?' list. "Good. You're not wanted anywhere, right?" At this point, it really wouldn't surprise him if she was. A hand hovering near the small of her back, Dean quickly lead the way across the parking lot to the Impala, keeping his voice down as the uniformed officers started in their direction. "Is there a criminal record I should know about?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Minor shit as a kid but my record was expunged like two years ago." Arms crossed, Skye stepped back and let Dean toss her bag into the backseat before he hit the door locks. "I'm taking a shot in the dark that the same cannot be said for you." Glancing at the two officers rapidly approaching, she looked torn for a second, as if she wanted to say something but maybe wasn't sure how.

"Spill it, and make it quick, 'cause we are outta time." Digging his phone out of his pocket, Dean flipped it open and punched in Sam's number from memory, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding when Sam answered on the first ring. "Dude, Five-Oh, take off."

"_What about you guys_?"

"Uh, they kinda spotted us. Go find Dad." Snapping his phone closed without waiting for a response, Dean glanced over at Skye as he swung around to face the officers.. "...you got about three seconds, Tink."

Side-eyeing him, he could see her trying not to smile as she shook her head, slowly taking her hands out of her pockets and keeping them in clear view as cops closed the distance between them. "I just wanted to say thanks and I didn't really get a chance to last night. You saved my ass, Batman. I appreciate it."

"Batman, huh? That's a new one. ...and you're welcome." Clearing his throat and raising his hands, Dean stepped toward, putting himself between them and Skye. This should be interesting, at least. And was that Officer Franks from the bridge yesterday? He did not look happy. Fun times. "Problem, officers?"

"Where's your partner?" Franks stopped a few feet away, exchanging a glance with his partner before crossing his arms and looking down his nose at Dean. Not an easy feat when Dean was a solid four inches taller. Peering past Dean, Franks nodded in Skye's direction, "And who's the kid?"

"Partner? What partner?" Feigning bewilderment, Dean shrugged a shoulder as he half-turned to look at Skye, the smug smirk on his face doing a pretty decent job of hiding his anxiety, even if he did say so himself. "Do you know what he's talkin' about?"

Dean wasn't worried about himself, he'd get out of this one way or another. He always did. And at this point he had no doubt Sam was half a block away and would be long gone by the time the cops checked Dad's room. Skyler, however… If she resisted or even said the wrong thing, this could all so easily go very, very badly. Or just maybe he should give her some credit for not being a total moron. Still, it was one thing to admit to himself that she wasn't totally useless and a whole other thing for her to have to prove it.

Franks' partner, a skinny kid in his mid-twenties with a badge that read 'Cooper', stepped up. A hand on his hip just a few inches from his cuffs and gun, Cooper eyed Dean critically before looking past him to Skyler. "Come on, kid. Where's the other guy?"

Wrapping her arms around herself, she glanced over at him and Dean could have sworn he saw her wink at him before she turned to face the cops, her entire demeanor shifting between one breath and the next. The bitchy young woman who'd been giving him nothing but grief vanished, replaced with a timid teenager that looked a good two years younger than she had two seconds ago. How the hell did she _do_ that?

A shy smile gracing her lips, Skye kept her head down, looking up through her lashes at Franks and his partner. "I-I don't know, sir. I just-I'm sorry, I don't know who you're talkin' about."

"Of course you don't." Franks sighed and shook his head, not looking at all thrilled with Skye's answer, but at least he seemed to be buying Skye's little performance. Hell, just about anyone would have. That 'sweet and innocent' thing she flipped like a switch was damned convincing. Too bad Dean knew better. And was he hallucinating or did her accent suddenly get a lot thicker? "What are you doing running around with this guy? He's bad news."

Hands clasped in front of her and eyes downcast, Skye looked up at Franks from under her lashes, her voice soft and nearly inaudible with no sass or snark anywhere in evidence. Definitely a first. "I'm startin' to get that, sir." Cute.

"And you." Turning his attention to Dean, his hand hovering near his hip, Franks gave him a good once-over. "Fake badge, fake ID, fake credit card… There anything about you that's real?"

Nodding slowly, as if he were giving the question some serious thought, Dean bit back a grin as his anxiety faded. This was turning out to be more entertaining than he'd anticipated. "My boobs." That was probably the wrong answer, but he just couldn't help himself sometimes. Okay, most times. Jerking his head in Skye's direction, he somehow managed to keep a straight face. "Probably hers too."

"I thought as much." From the brief glimpse he got of Skyler before Franks stepped between them, cuffs in hand, Dean could see her fighting to keep a straight face. Too bad neither Franks nor Cooper seemed to have a sense of humor. Cops so rarely did, in Dean's experience. Gesturing for Dean to turn around, Franks sighed and started issuing orders, "Turn around, hands behind your backs, we'll take you both in and get the girl sorted at the station."

* * *

Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, Skye watched from the backseat of the police cruiser as Franks bent Dean over the hood of the Impala and cuffed him, being considerably less gentle than Cooper had been with her. It probably helped that she'd been completely quiet and cooperative and also that she hadn't been armed. Apparently Dean could not say the same and the small pile of weapons and God knew what else stacked on the hood next to him was reaching comic proportions, like something out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon. No wonder he wore so many layers, he had to have a place to conceal it all.

And yet, rough as he was being treated and as many charges as the City of Jericho was about to bring against him, Dean was smiling. _Smiling_. Was he seriously having fun with this? He really was psychotic.

Sitting up as Franks and Cooper started back toward the car, Skye tracked their progress, keeping her expression carefully neutral when they cracked the backdoor and shoved Dean onto the seat next to her. Shifting to ease the pressure of the metal around her wrists, she flashed Dean a strained smile, her voice low so the officers outside had no chance of overhearing, "You're having entirely too much fun with this, you know. Totally touched in the head."

"You have to learn to enjoy the little things in life, Tinkerbell." Shifting so he was sitting partially facing her, Dean frowned, eyes narrowing as he studied her. "...you alright?"

"Oh, I'm peachy, Wi— Mr. Wayne." Halfway through the thought before catching the slip, Skye hastily corrected herself. No telling if they were being recorded and better to err on the side of caution.

"Mr. Wayne?"

In answer, Skye hummed the first few notes of the Batman theme, trying to brush off the previous question. Unfortunately, it didn't look like Dean was buying it. Not that she could blame him, she wouldn't have either. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to notice the pallor of her skin, the rapid pulse, the sheen of sweat that was starting to pop up on her brow. Good times. "Okay, so I may or may not be a little claustrophobic…" Usually it was dark, enclosed spaces that did it but apparently the caged and locked backseat of a police car was close enough.

"Because of course you are." Glancing away as Cooper and Franks climbed into the front seat and started the car, Dean rolled his eyes and leaned in closer, his voice barely audible above the rumble of the engine, "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine." In spite of her brain screaming at her that there wasn't enough air and trying to insist that the car was about to cave in around her, she was grand. Still, not her first rodeo and she knew she wasn't going to die, it just felt like she was. Taking a deep breath, she focused on Dean, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her lips as a sound caught her attention. "...are you humming the Cops theme?"


	20. Explanations and Interrogations

With a muffled curse, Sam stuffed his phone in his pocket and strode across the room to the window, flicking back the curtain in time to see two uniformed officers walk up to Skye and Dean. Great. Not exactly the first time he'd had to bail out of a motel room, but hopefully it'd be his last.

Grabbing his bag from where he'd dropped it by the door, Sam made for the window in the bathroom. It was a tight fit, but with a little contorting, he managed to shove his lanky frame through it.

Hitching the trap of his backpack up higher on a shoulder, he took a quick look around before taking off down the alley and around the corner. With any luck, the cops would let Skye go and Dean… well, Dean could take care of himself. Besides, it wasn't like he could do anything about it. Nothing to do now but follow orders like a good little soldier and no doubt they'd all meet up again at some point or another. Now, to find a phone book...

* * *

"Alright, Miss Bleu, sign here and you're free to go." Officer Reyes handed Skyler a clipboard with a single piece of paper on it, giving the younger girl a stern look as she offered up a pen, "And remember what I said about hitching rides, you're lucky you didn't end up in a ditch somewhere."

"Yes, ma'am." Jotting down her signature, Skye signed the receipt acknowledging that she'd gotten back everything Cooper had taken off her, giving the cute blonde a sheepish grin. "I promise, no more strange men in shiny cars." Because just the one was enough, thanks.

Grabbing her knapsack, she slung a strap over her shoulder and headed out, keeping her head down and her hands in her pockets until she was halfway down the block. Breathing a little easier once she could no longer see the police station, she straightened, taking a minute to get her bearings. She'd studied the California maps on the way up, specifically Jericho and the surrounding area, and if her memory was correct— and it almost always was— then Main Street was thataway and chances were pretty good that in a town this small, Main Street would literally be _the _main street, a great place to find some food and a phone.

* * *

Dean had been searched, booked, fingerprinted and taken to a small room to be interrogated all within about half an hour of being brought in. Seemed like maybe someone higher up on the food chain than Officer Franks was anxious to talk to him. The weapons they'd confiscated off his person probably hadn't helped any. Eh, at least the girl was clean, or so she claimed.

After rushing him through booking, they left him to sit handcuffed to a table in what was apparently their version of an interrogation room. He'd seen better. This one was half full of filing cabinets and even had a window. Were they kidding? He'd been in more secure bathroom stalls. This should be fun.

Shifting his chair closer to the table to give his cuffed wrist a little more slack, he slouched down in his chair, stretching his legs out and closing his eyes. No telling how long they'd keep him in here before someone came to talk and, while he could probably slip out now if he tried hard enough, he really wanted to see what the head honcho had to say. Never hurt to know what information they had. Besides, if he booked it too soon, they might keep Skyler for questioning and the thought of her locked in a cell made him decidedly uncomfortable. To be fair, the thought of _him_ locked in a cell made him decidedly uncomfortable, too. He'd stick around long enough to find out what they local LEOs knew, give Sam and Skye plenty of time to get clear, then he'd take advantage of the first opportunity that came his way. He had no doubt one would.

They always did.

* * *

It was five blocks before Sam found a phonebooth, the phonebook dangling from a steel cord. With a little luck, or maybe a lot of luck, Joseph Welch would be listed with a current address. Wedging his backpack between his chest and the plexiglass, Sam grabbed a notepad and pencil before picking up the phonebook and flipping it open, only taking a minute to find the right page.

Seemed maybe it was his lucky day after all, there was only one listing for Joseph Welch. Of course, it remained to be seen if it was the same Joseph Welch and if he actually lived at that address, but one thing to worry about at a time.

First he was going to have to hotwire a car, and the easiest car to do that with was the one he learned to do it on. It also just happened to have all the supplies he could possibly need to track down Constance and torch her. Of course, that meant he had to give the law a chance to clear out, which meant he had some time to kill…

And he was hungry.

* * *

Stuffing the now-empty Starbucks wrapper into a pocket, Sam blew the steam away from the lip of his cardboard coffee cup, settling into the shadowed corner of the alley across the street from the motel. From the looks of it, the officers that arrested Skye and Dean were the only police presence in the area, but he wasn't willing to risk anything on that just yet.

This was probably the least interesting part of a gig, and not one he'd missed, but it was a small price to pay to avoid ending up in a cell alongside his brother. With a sigh, Sam slid down the wall and settled in to wait.

* * *

"..._I am a man of constant sorrow, I've seen trouble all my days. I bid farewell to ol' Kentucky, the place where I was born and raised…"_

The Soggy Bottom Boys spilled out of the speakers, Sam's thumb keeping the beat against the steering wheel as he hummed along, barely glancing at the scenery whipping past the windows. Dean wasn't the only one with a lead foot, though he was the only one willing to do more than thirty over the limit. Sam had almost forgotten how much fun this car was to drive and it seemed Dean kept her in great shape.

Slowing, he started paying closer attention to the street names he passed, the directions he'd gotten from the cashier on the seat next to him. Before long, he was counting down house numbers, raising a brow as he got to the one he was looking for. Glancing up at the rusted metal sign as he drove beneath it, Sam noted the name, 'Welch's Auto Salvage'. Well, that was a good sign.

Pulling into the middle of the junkyard, Sam parked on a wide patch of dirt and gravel, killing the engine and shouldering open the door before unfolding himself from the driver's seat. The air around him was flavored with the tang of rusted metal, the moldering heaps of abandoned cars scattered haphazardly and the dust clogging the back of his throat only adding to the feeling of nostalgia that he'd been experiencing off and on all day. He'd spent bits of his childhood in a place like this and it was one of the few things from his former life that he actually missed.

Gravel crunching underfoot, Sam made his way to the front door of the small ramshackle building that could possibly have been a house at one point in time. Rapping his knuckles on the worn wood, Sam didn't have long to wait before the door was answered by an older man in his mid-fifties, the man's stained t-shirt and jeans giving off an overpowering odor of grease and motor oil.

Offering his hand, Sam cleared his throat and smiled,"Hi, are you Joseph Welch?"

Squinting up at Sam, the man gave him a long look and a slow nod before shaking his hand. "Yeah. Somethin' I can do for you?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry to bother you. My name is Daniel Travers, I'm a reporter with the Jericho Herald." Falling into step behind Joseph, the older man stepping out of the shack and letting the door close behind him as he headed out into the yard. "I was wondering if maybe I could ask you some questions."

"Well I guess that'd be alright."

"Has my partner been out to talk to you yet? Older man, dark hair?" Hands in his pockets, Sam tried to feel as nonchalant about the question as he hoped he looked and failed miserably. "Maybe three or four days ago?"

"Yeah, he was here." Taking a breath, Sam felt the tightness in his chest ease as Joseph confirmed that John, or at least probably John, had been alive and well just a few days before. So where the hell was he now and why wasn't he getting in touch with Dean? Joseph stopped, squinting up at Sam, already starting to sound suspicious and irritated. That was quick. "I don't know what kinda story you guys were workin' on, the kindsa questions he was askin' me."

"About your late wife, Constance?"

"Askin' me things like where she was buried." Shaking his head, Joseph pursed his lips, as if he tasted something he didn't particularly like. "Why I gotta go through this twice?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Welch, it's just fact checking." Pulling a notepad and a pencil out of the inner pocket of his jacket, Sam tried to force out a little more sympathy. "Where was Mrs. Welch buried again?"

"In a plot behind my old place over on Breckenridge."

"Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?" Joseph was starting to look cranky and Sam couldn't really blame him. The questions Sam had to ask were intrusive and not what anyone would call normal conversation. Sam had always hated this part of a job, the lying and badgering people about old— or very fresh— grief.

"No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known."

For just a second, Sam caught a glimpse of the young man Joseph once was, the love and pride shining in misty eyes softening his harsh features, which just made Sam's next question even more difficult to ask. "So you had a happy marriage?"

"... Definitely." Who was Joseph trying to lie to, Sam or himself? The hesitation before he answered was glaring, guilt crowding out the pride in his eyes.

"Mr. Welch…" Licking his lips, Sam held a brief debate with himself. He was fairly sure he had all the information he needed but, much as he might dislike having to press the issue, he needed to be sure. Besides, Skye had bet them dinner. "Mr. Welch, I'm writing an article on something called a Woman in White. Have you ever heard of a Woman in White?"

From the puzzled expression on his weather-worn features, Sam knew the answer before Joseph opened his mouth. "A what?"

"A Woman in White, sometimes called a Weeping Woman. It's an old ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really. They're spirits." Tucking his notepad and pencil away before sticking his hands in his pockets, Sam took a step closer. "They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places." Sam found his sympathy for Joseph waning as he thought about all the pain and grief those women had gone through because of men just like him. "In Hawaii and Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women, you understand, but all share the same story."

"You see, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them." Try as he might, Sam just couldn't keep the edge off his words. He'd never understood anyone that could betray someone like that and he didn't really want to start now. "In bouts of temporary insanity brought on by their husbands actions, they murder their children. Then, when they realize what they've done, they take their own lives, cursing their spirits to walk the backroads and waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him."

"You think…" The color drained from Joseph's face as he realized what Sam was accusing him of. What Sam was blaming him for. "You think that has something to do with Constance, you smartass?"

"You tell me."

"I mean, maybe— maybe I made some mistakes, but no matter what I did, Constance never would have killed her own children." A quiver in his voice, Joseph took a step toward Sam, his anger making him oblivious to the fact that Sam could probably snap him in half with very little effort. "Now you get the hell outta here, and you don't come back!"

...oh yeah, they definitely owed the Midget dinner.


	21. Jailbreak

The sound of the door opening brought Dean out of the half-doze he'd been in for the last who knew how long. Like Vegas, there wasn't a clock in sight and they'd taken his watch. And this is why he never wore a belt or shoes with laces, because they'd have taken those too.

A smile curling up one corner of his lips, Dean arched a brow as the Sheriff kicked the door closed before dropping the heavy box he was carrying onto the table in front of Dean. From the look on the man's face, he definitely remembered Dean from the day before. The X-Files crack to the Marshals probably hadn't helped matters. Ah well, couldn't be helped.

Settling onto the corner of the table, the Sheriff sized Dean up for a long moment before speaking, looking every bit the small town good ole' boy he undoubtedly was. Probably used to getting his way, easily intimidating the prisoners in his care. As if. "So, you want to give us your real name?"

"I told you guys, it's Nugent. Ted Nugent." Sheriff Hardass didn't seem to find that as funny as Dean did. His loss, Dean was hilarious, if he did say so himself. And he did on a semi-regular basis. Hell, he'd even gotten Tinkerbell to laugh a time or two in the last day or so. Unwilling to let his thoughts turn in that direction, or to acknowledge the worry gnawing at his stomach, Dean forced his shit-eating grin a little brighter and focused on the man in front of him. Always a good idea to pay attention to the guy with the gun.

Crossing his arms, Sheriff Humorless leaned forward, looming over Dean as if trying to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation. "I'm not sure you realize just how much trouble you're in here, son."

"We talkin', like, misdemeanor kinda trouble or uh 'squeal like a pig' trouble?" Not that Dean was terribly worried, he'd been in infinitely worse situations, but it was always good to know exactly how much time he could be facing. Just in case. At least Sam had gotten away clean and Tink was clear ...he hoped. She had to have been released by now, right? Better not to think about it.

"You got the faces of ten missing persons' taped to your wall, along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, you are officially a suspect—" Wait, what? How did that make any kind of sense. How was he a suspect? "—and you're just damn lucky that girl turned out to be legal or I'd have you on charges there, too. Not that I wouldn't be happy to try and make some stick anyhow."

Before Dean even realized he was going to say anything, his mouth opened and words popped out, sounding a hell of a lot more serious than he had just a minute ago when he was claiming to be Ted Nugent. "The girl, she's okay?" Not that he was concerned at all. Why'd he even ask? Of course she was. Why wouldn't she be? Unless…

"Boy, don't you worry about her none, you worry about you. I just told you you're a suspect in ten missing persons' cases."

Translation: 'We had nothing on her and had to let her go'. Releasing a breath, Dean relaxed just the tiniest bit, the tension in his shoulders easing. Well, easing as much as being handcuffed and interrogated by the County Sheriff on possible murder charges would allow.

Rolling his eyes to the sky, and not the one he actually kind of liked looking at, Dean slouched down in his seat. "That makes sense. 'Cause when the first one went missing in '82, I was three."

"I know you got partners. One of them's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing." Straightening, Sheriff Killjoy moved back around the table to the box he'd brought in. Popping the lid off, he tossed it onto a filing cabinet before digging out a thick leather-bound journal, dropping it abruptly onto the table in front of Dean. "So tell me, Dean. Is this his?"

And just like that, Dean didn't find the situation quite so funny anymore. John Winchester had spent the last twenty-two years of his life hunting the monsters hiding under the bed and everything he'd learned about every ghost, ghoul, and grotesque horror was in that book. And he never went anywhere without it.

"I thought that might be your name." Mistaking the source of Dean's sudden change in attitude, Sheriff Buzzkill smirked down at him and Dean was forced to remind himself that he was cuffed and unarmed. He'd fix that soon enough, but for now assaulting an officer would probably be a real bad idea. Would have been damn satisfying, though. He was really starting to dislike this guy. Reaching over, Sheriff Dickweed flipped open John's journal, revealing page upon page of photos, drawings, hand-written notes, diagrams… Dean was familiar with just about every picture and line; the thing had been the closest thing to his Bible growing up. The only thing he didn't recognize was the page Sheriff Jerkoff stopped on.

"What does this mean, 'Dean 35-111'?" Jabbing a thick finger against the page, Sheriff Backbirth tapped the paper, the single name and numbers circled repeatedly in thick, black marker. Flipping the book closed again, he smiled at Dean. And not a pleasant smile, either, but one of those 'I'm gonna enjoy watchin' you suffer, boy' kind of smiles. "See, I leafed through this thing and well, it is nine kinds of crazy. Now, I've got all day and we're gonna stay right here till you tell me exactly what the hell all of it means…"

* * *

McDonald's bag in one hand, Skye sipped the drink she held in the other, all paid for with the last of the cash Dean had given her to buy clothes. She hoped he hadn't expected his change back because that had never had a chance of happening. Not in any real hurry, she took her time in the crosswalk after the light changed, getting a honk from an impatient asshat and giving a middle finger in return. It wasn't even green yet, for fucks sake, dude could wait. Still, she should probably at least think about getting a move on, and not because of the jerk-off in the Volvo. Not that she was at all worried about Dean, locked up in a cell, or Sam who was God knew where.

Well, a single phone call should fix at least half of that. She hoped. With a l sigh, she made for the phonebooth down the block, the only one in town according to the cashier at Mickey D's. Well, other than the one directly in front of the police station, and going back that direction just didn't hold much appeal.

It wasn't long before she had the phone in hand, leaning back against the clear plexiglass as she punched in the numbers, the other end of the line picking up after a single ring. "Nine-one-one, what is your emergency..."

* * *

"I don't know how many times I gotta tell you, it's my high school locker combo." Hands on the table in front of him, Dean stubbornly kept the smartass smirk firmly on his lips. At this point he was more than ready to get gone, but Sheriff Has-No-Life hadn't been kidding when he'd say he had all day.

"We gonna do this all night, too?" Looking older than he had when this whole thing started, Sheriff Eat-Shit-And-Die rubbed tired eyes. He'd no doubt hoped to threaten and intimidate and cajole information out Dean long before now, but jokes on him, Skyler didn't call Dean a stubborn dick for nothing.

Before Dean could figure out an appropriately foul-mouthed reply, the door cracked open and a uniformed officer several years Sheriff Go-Fuck-Yourself's junior hesitantly stuck his head in. "Sir? We just got a 911, shot fired over at Whiteford Road." Flinching at the dour expression on his boss's face, the officer retreated, closing the door softly behind him.

With a sigh, the Sheriff stood and stretched before looking down at Dean. "Do you have to go to the bathroom?"

"...no."

"Good."

* * *

Tucking John's journal into the inner pocket of his jacket, Dean rubbed his wrist where the cold metal had been digging into it for the last several hours. The sun was starting to set and he'd been in there for way too fucking long already. Time to get gone and find Sam...and Skye too, of course. Somehow. For just a second, he considered just leaving without her. Maybe that stupid bitches curse had weakened by now? He could just disappear and she could hop a bus back to Louisiana and everyone could forget any of this had ever happened. And that was _not_ guilt at the thought of leaving her stranded. No, that was just… hunger. Sure it was. Though to be fair, he was starving.

It took less than two minutes for Dean to pop the lock on the door using the same paperclip he'd used to slip the cuffs. Pressing his ear against the thin wood, he listened for any hint of anyone on the other side. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the hair prickling on the back of his neck, he eased it open when he heard nothing, cautiously peering out into the short hallway that ran along the back of the building.

Jericho was a tiny town, with an almost non-existent police force. With luck, most if not all of that police force was responding to the shooting. Maybe Dean would get really lucky and it'd turn into a standoff and they wouldn't discover him missing for hours.

Alright, first things first, where was the evidence lockup? No way he was leaving without his gun, at the very least, and another plus side of shitty small towns was that they never had the budget for decent security…


	22. Elementary, My Dear Winchester

Leaning against the clear plexiglass, the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, Dean dug into his pocket for change and cursed when he came up dry. And of course he'd given the last of his cash to Skyler. Great.

As if thinking her name had summoned her, Dean heard a tap on the glass next to him and looked up to see the pint-sized brunette leaning against the open door of the phonebooth with a McDonald's bag in one hand and a handful of change in the other. And didn't she look smug. "Evenin', Winchester. Need a hand? Or a burger? Extra onions."

"...the fuck?"

"Gee, nice to see you too. I'm fine, thanks for askin'." Depositing the quarters and the food on the tiny shelf under the phone, she crossed her arms and smirked up at him, obviously enjoying the dumbass expression plastered on his face. "Oh come on, it wasn't that hard, don't strain yourself. I took a shot that the first thing you'd do is call Sam and there's only two working phonebooths in this one-horse town. I didn't figure you'd hang around to use the one in front of the precinct, so I waited for you."

"And what if I'd gotten my phone back? What then, Sherlock?" Ignoring the roll of her eyes, Dean eyed the paper sack, his stomach growling insults as he picked up the quarters and shoving them into the slot. Punching in Sam's number, Dean cleared his throat, forcing out a few gruding words. "...and thanks for the food."

"My God, the boy can be taught. ...and you're welcome, I figured you'd be hungry. You're always hungry." Tucking her hands into her back pockets, Skye smiled up at him, leaning against the wall in a space that was already a little too close for comfort. What happened to being claustrophobic and not wanting to touch people, dammit. "You're not that stupid, your phone can be tracked and I'm sure you know that."

"Was that a compliment?" Before she could answer, the phone on the other end of the line picked up. Waving her to silence, Dean turned away and spoke up before Sam could so much as say hello, "Fake 911 call. I don't know, Sammy, that's pretty illegal."

"_Sorry, man. Wasn't me. Glad you're out, though."_

Then who… Well, ask a stupid question. With a sigh that he felt all the way down to his toes, Dean reluctantly turned back to Skyler, who was just standing there grinning like the cat that just ate the canary. Closing his eyes, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to keep an answering grin off his own face. "...son of a bitch."

"_Skye?"_

"So it would seem." Pressing himself back further into the booth, Dean tried to ignore Skye's attempts to listen in on Sam's side of the conversation. Covering the mouthpiece, he tried to stop breathing as the scent of her filled the small space and started to fuzz out the edges of his brain, making it hard to think. "Will you stop that?"

"No." Hands on her hips, she tilted her head back to look up at him, refusing to move and way too confident that he wouldn't just shove her out of the booth and close the door. "I wanna hear."

"_Not bad for a rookie."_

"Don't encourage her." With another deep sigh, Dean gave into the inevitable and leaned down far enough for her to crowd the headset, steadfastly disregarding the fact that she was close enough to put his arms around. Not that he had any desire to do so. _...we're still not done with the denial thing yet? Seriously?_ Closing his eyes, Dean felt a dull ache begin in his temples. "Listen, Sammy, we gotta talk."

"_Tell me about it. Constance's husband was unfaithful. It looks like we owe Pixie Stick dinner, we are definitely dealing with a Woman in White-"_

"What's a Woman in White?" Ignoring Skye's question, Dean motioned her to silence, getting an obscene gesture in response. How many of those did she know? And if she could not do that at all, that would be great, it wasn't like he didn't have enough ideas of his own. ...and why did she have to smell so damn good.

"_-and Constance is buried behind her old house. 2403 Breckenridge-"_

"Sammy-"

"_-I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet-"_

"Well if you'd shut up a second, that's what I'm tryin' to tell you." Maneuvering an arm to reach into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, Dean managed to retrieve John's journal without having to shove Skye out the door to do it. Barely. Studying the book in his hand, Dean sighed for the umpteenth time that day. "...he's gone. Dad left Jericho."

"_What? Are you sure?"_

"What is that?"

Setting the book on the shelf next to the bag of fast food that was probably stone cold by now, Dean managed to answer both questions at once. "I've got Dad's journal."

"_He doesn't go anywhere without that thing."_

It was pretty obvious John had meant for Dean to find it, but why had he left it in the first place and where in the hell had he gone? "Yeah, well, he did this time."

"_What's it say?"_

"Same old ex-Marine crap when he wants to let us know where he's going."

"_Coordinates? Where to?"_

"Not sure yet."

"_Dean, what the hell is going on?"_

"I have-" Before Dean could finish the thought, let alone the sentence, the sharp squeal of the Impala's brakes pierced his eardrums and Sam's wordless shout pierced his brain before the line went dead."Sam? Sam!"

"What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know." Slamming down the receiver, Dean paused just long enough to grab John's journal with one hand and Skyler with the other, pulling her out of the phonebooth with barely a chance to grab the food. Not that he was thinking about his stomach right that second, but he would be later, so that was thoughtful. "Come on, we gotta go. _Now_."

"...no shit, really?"

* * *

The squeal of the Impala's brakes split the air as Sam stomped the pedal with both feet as Constance appeared directly in front of the car, his phone flying out of his hand and cracking into the passenger side window as he swerved sharply to the left. Sliding across the asphalt, the Impala came to a stop half in the other lane. Probably a good thing there wasn't any oncoming traffic. Or any traffic at all, for that matter.

Prying his fingers off of the steering wheel, Sam took a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding of his heart as adrenaline pumped through it. Having someone, even a dead someone, appear right in front of you while you were going sixty down the highway was a decidedly unsettling experience.

"_Take me home."_ The cool feminine voice echoed, resonating in the confined interior. A feeling of overwhelming dread crept up the back of Sam's neck, his eyes moving automatically to the rearview mirror. The backseat that had been empty just a few seconds ago was now full of pissed off dead woman, which probably wasn't a good thing. Constance looked back at him, pale as ice and twice as cold, anger sparking in her lifeless eyes. "_Take. Me. Home."_

His breath puffing out to swirl in front of his eyes, Sam met her gaze without flinching. He could do this, he'd be fine. She only went after the unfaithful, she had nothing on him. He wondered if Dean could say the same. Maybe a good thing he wasn't here to find out. "No."

The distinct click of the door locks slamming down resounded in the silence, trapping Sam in the car and sending a flash of panic and another shot of adrenaline coursing through his system. Without warning, the Impala shifted into gear and the accelerator hit the floor, the tires screaming before they caught traction.

It seemed Constance was determined to get what she wanted, with or without Sam's cooperation.


	23. Grand Theft Semantics

"-and that's about it."

"So a Woman in White is a woman that kills her kids and then herself because she was cheated on and then becomes a serial-killer after death?" Sitting cross-legged on the other end of the bench seat with an elbow on a knee and her chin in her hand, Skye paid no attention whatsoever to the darkened landscape that blew by the window in an unending streak of evergreen shadows, instead focused on him and his explanations so intently he could feel her eyes burning a hole in his head. He'd been half-wishing he really had her attention for the last few days and now that he had it, he wasn't sure he wanted it. "You'd think the dead would have better things to do with their time."

"Yeah, pretty much. You know, you're taking all of this really well." Shifting in his seat, Dean glanced at her before quickly turning his attention back to the road, unwilling to look away while driving at night on a narrow highway going well over the speed limit. At least, not for more than a second or two. "I mean, we did just steal a car...and you're cool with that?"

Leaning her head back against the window, Skye closed her eyes, a slight smile tracing itself along her lips. "Truck."

"What?"

"We stole a truck, not a car. Well, you stole a truck, I'm just accomplicing." They were going a hundred and ten on a dark highway in a stolen truck to save his brother from a homicidal ghost. Anyone in their right mind would be freaking the fuck out right about now and she was being pedantic?

"...you know 'accomplicing' isn't a word, right?"

Now who was being pedantic?

* * *

The tick of the rapidly cooling engine was the only sound that penetrated the thick silence around Sam, his eyes glued to the rearview as Constance flickered in and out of view in the backseat. "Don't do this Constance."

Her voice as hollow and frigid as the rest of her, she met his gaze, repeating the same phrase as if it were the only words she knew, "_I can never go home."_

Realization dawned on Sam and he twisted around in his seat to look at her, the lightbulb flashing above his head bright enough to dispel the fear chilling his soul...for a few seconds anyway. "You're scared to go home."

...and she was gone.

Twisting back around, Sam grabbed at the door lock, fingers slipping off the slick metal, unable to gain enough purchase to pull it up. Turning to try the passenger side door, Sam was brought up short when Constance made her grand reappearance.

Inches away from him, her arm draped across the back of the seat, she radiated an intense cold so deep it caught the air in his throat and threatened to choke him. Between one blink and the next, she was on him, shoving him back hard enough to slam the seat down.

"_Hold me._" Moving in a grotesque parody of seduction, she straddled his waist, grinding painfully against him. "_I'm so cold."_

The term 'cold as the grave' ran through his mind and he really wished it hadn't. Gasping, Sam tried to shove her away, tried to move, held down by her hand on his chest with an appalling strength no human woman could ever match.

Her arctic touch stole the oxygen from his lungs, making it a struggle to speak. Fighting to take a ragged breath, he forced the words out through clenched teeth, "Y-you can't k-kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've n-never been."

Giving Sam a sultry look, Constance threw herself down, her lips met his with bruising force. Her words echoed around them, chilling him in a way that was far deeper than the physical.

"..._you will be."_

* * *

"You ever cheated, Winchester?"

"What?" The unexpected question pulled Dean's attention away from the road for long enough that he was forced to either let up on the accelerator or plow into a pine tree. "The hell kind of question is that?"

Slouching down in her seat with her knees jammed against the dash, Skye looked up from the window, meeting his eyes until he was forced to look back at the road. Lips twitching, she shook her head, laughter warming her voice as she resumed her inspection of the passing treeline, "Seemed like a reasonable question, considering the circumstances."

Wait, which circumstances? She _had_ to be talking about the whole Constance thing. Maybe she was worried about him, which was kind of a nice thought. If he'd ever cheated, then Constance could kill him, not that she probably wouldn't try anyway. There was no way she could mean anything else, right? "No, I've never cheated."

Her amusement fading, she cleared her throat, not looking away from the window as a hand strayed to the braid curled over her shoulder. "...ever had a girl around long enough to cheat on?"

Hands tightening on the steering wheel until the leather creaked beneath his fingers, Dean tried to figure out if there was any possible way that could be related to Constance and came up blank. It didn't help that the part of his brain that wouldn't let him sink completely into denial was laughing its ass off. "Are you asking me if I've ever had a girlfriend?"

Silence. A very long silence. Okay, maybe like thirty seconds, but it sure as hell felt longer. "...yeah, and?"

He was supposed to be focusing on whatever in the hell they were going to find in like five minutes, including a possibly dead or injured Sam, and she wanted to ask this shit _now_? Great. Good timing.

"One. A couple years ago. Her name was Cassie." Somehow managing to ignore the looming feeling that this conversation was way more important than it had any right to be, Dean found himself answering honestly, that inner prompting telling him that lying right now would be a _really_ bad idea. "I was twenty-three and she was in her first year of college. It did not end well."

And she was watching him again. He couldn't figure out which was worse, when she was looking at him like that or when she wasn't, that little smile twitching at the corners of her mouth again. "That explains so much."

"...the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?"

* * *

Gulping a ragged breath into screaming lungs, Sam shoved himself upright, eyes darting around the darkened interior as he tried to spot where Constance had gone. A faint spark of hope flared in his chest. And was quickly stomped to death when he was slammed back down, unseen hands sliding up his chest, the skin beneath burning with the cold.

Flickering into view like a bad movie reel, Constance's once lovely features had melted away, revealing a skeletal appearance straight out of a Stephen King novel. Unfortunately this was reality and he couldn't just put the book down.

Scrabbling at his chest, Sam screamed as felt her icy fingers slide beneath flesh and bone to wrap around his heart...

* * *

Rounding a bend in the highway, 2403 Breckenridge came into view a few hundred yards away, an old farmhouse long abandoned and left to rot. Motor off and the lights out, the Impala sat skewed in front of the crumbling wooden fence that wrapped around the property.

"Put your seatbelt on, please. " Without a word of protest or hesitation, Skye did as ordered. Good to know she didn't have to argue with or question every single little thing. Or maybe it was because he asked nicely. Either way… "Thank you."

Pressing the accelerator to the floor, the truck hit the edge of the dirt lot that had once been a yard, fishtailing as Dean hit the brakes and spun the wheel hard to the left, the back bumper coming to rest just a few feet from the tail-end of the Impala.

"Stay here." Yelling back over his shoulder, Dean bailed out of the truck as Sam's scream ripped through the air, sending Skyler scrambling out of the truck right behind him in spite of his explicit instructions. Which he would make sure she heard all about _after_ he saved Sam's ass.

Sprinting to the driver's side door, Dean reached for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans, spotting Constance's ghastly visage leering over Sam. With no other viable options, Dean pointed the gun and pulled the trigger with just enough presence of mind to yell at Skye to cover her ears.

Well, bullets might not hurt ghosts, but a gun and an explosion of window glass was at least enough to startle one for a few seconds, giving Sam a reprieve from imminent death. And Sam promptly used that chance to try and kill himself.

As Constance flickered back into view in the passenger seat, Sam sat up and grabbed at the keys sitting in the ignition. With a deep rumble, the V8 roared to life before Sam threw it into drive and hit the gas.

* * *

His ears ringing, Sam sucked in a lungful of air, thick pieces of safety glass raining down around him as he sat up. Acting on impulse as felt the chill start to radiate from the passenger seat, announcing Constance's presence before she shimmered into view. Groping for the keys, he wrenched the over, shifting into drive as soon as the engine caught.

Flooring the accelerator, he scrambled for the seatbelt, throwing it on just seconds before plowing through the fence and into the wall of the house a few yards beyond it.


	24. M Night Son-Of-A-Bitch

Coughing, Dean covered his mouth as the plaster dust clogged his throat. Stepping over broken planks and chunks of debris, his voice cut through the creak of busted beams as he called out. "Sam!"

"Here!" Strained but alive, Sam called back from under the cloud of plaster dust that was settling on the Impala like a layer of new fallen snow. "I'm okay."

"Hold on, I'm comin'." Tossing chunks of drywall out of the way, he started to clear a path before glancing over his shoulder at Skyler, about to suggest she wait outside before the ceiling decided to fall in, the words dying in his throat when he got a good look at her. "Hey, you okay?"

Eyes wide and skin a pasty shade several tones lighter than her usual pale-as-fuck, breath hitching in her chest, she looked absolutely freaked. Taking a step back, her gaze darted to his before returning to stare at the empty air a few feet in front of her. "...I see dead people."

* * *

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Dean's growing concern was the least of her worries just then, and Sam seemed perfectly fine, so it was acceptable for her to go ahead and lose it, right? Anyone would if confronted with the very corporeal looking ghosts of two small children standing in the middle of the room and staring at them. That was a perfectly reasonable reaction. The fact that she'd been able to crack a joke was just a plus. No, actually, that was downright miraculous.

"What the hell do you mean what the hell am I talkin' about? They're _right there._" Taking another step back, she spared a glance at Dean, who looked like he was having serious issues deciding between rescuing Sam and figuring out what the hell she was on about. She could see the conflict like it was written in dayglo marker across his forehead. "Dammit, Dean, get Sam!" The sooner Sam was freed, the sooner they could all get the fuck out of dodge.

"_Who's _right there? I swear to God, Skyler, if you're fuckin' with me-" Cursing, Dean proved he too could occasionally listen to an order and retreated back to the car, clearing large chunks of drywall out of his path before he got to the passenger side door, where Sam was currently trying to wedge all two hundred and thirty or so pounds of his gigantic frame through the window.

"Do I look like I'm fuckin' with you right now! Jesus Christ." Offended at the suggestion, Skye turned to give Dean a piece of her mind, her fear temporarily overshadowed by a flash of temper. Right up until she came face-to-face with two adorable children...that had been dead for about a quarter of a century. Well, maybe not exactly face-to-face. She wasn't _that_ short.

Without warning, their rage at their mother flooded through her, sending her heart racing in her chest, triggering an overwhelming urge to grab the kids and run. Which, not really possible in her current situation. Feeling little hands curl into hers, she looked down and at the kids, all thought of the Winchester boys getting pushed straight out of her head.

Skin prickling, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, the fury she felt coming off the children in waves taking on an edge of fear. _Mama._ A flash of white out of the corner of Skye's eye and there Constance was, standing at the foot of the stairs. Her movements jerky and stilted, she looked up at the three intruders with such hatred that Skye was surprised they didn't all burst into flames on the spot.

That surge of terror that had started to fade came back in full force, rooting her to the spot and sending a shiver up her spine. Undoubtedly the same sensation a deer in the headlights felt, or maybe a rabbit with a hawk circling overhead. Not the first time she'd experienced it and she couldn't say she'd missed it.

Shoved violently and unexpectedly backward, Skye was unable to twist herself around to land safely. Hitting the floor hard enough to knock the air straight out of her lungs, she was left gasping and bruised. _I am so going to feel that in the morning._ Still, could have been worse. For instance, she could have still been standing there when the heavy wooden desk that had been pushed against the far wall went sailing through the air to slam the boys against the bulk of the car. Seemed like her day to get tossed around for her own good. _Just don't tell the Elf._

"Skyler!"

"Is that concern I hear, Winchester?" Groaning out a reply, she struggled to sit up, wincing at the dull ache in her back. That was definitely going to hurt later. Still, could be worse. No cracked ribs, no broken bones, not even a concussion. Silver linings every-fucking-where. "You guys okay?"

Straining to get free, Sam coughed, a cloud of plaster dust exploding in the air around him as he shook his head. "We're fine."

Before she could get to her feet to see for herself, two little hands grasped hers and pulled her up. The same little hands that had just saved her ass from their homicidal mother. 'Why' was an excellent question that she unfortunately didn't have the time to ask. "...thank you."

"We're not fine, Sam, we're stuck. What the hell is going on?" Heaving against the desk pinning their legs to the car, the combined strength of both boys wasn't enough to budge it. And that meant Constance was keeping it there because no way in hell was a desk— even a three hundred pound solid Oak affair which this was _not_— going to win out against those two behemoths. Great.

"Don't go anywhere and I'll get back to you on that."

"Funny." Struggling against the force holding them down, Dean uttered a string of curses even Skye wouldn't say. Okay, that's a lie, she so would. And did. Regularly.

"Terrified," Skye corrected, turning her attention firmly back to Constance, who did not look at all happy and was slowly advancing on her, screeching something about 'home' and 'her children' and there may have even been a 'whore' in there which was really not fair and if she died a virgin she was going to be so pissed…

Raising her voice to be heard over the shrieking dead woman, Skye tried to step back and couldn't, the children clinging and preventing her from moving. "Startin' to think you were right and I should've just stayed in the truck."

"You think?"

"I try real hard not to unless absolutely necessary." The kids crowded her legs, looking to her for protection for reasons she couldn't even begin to fathom, staring across the rapidly shrinking space between them and Constance. The identical looks of fear and panic on their little faces were heartbreaking, and something Skye had seen on her own face a few too many times.

The vaguest glimmer of a thought that might turn out to someday be an idea sparked in the dark recesses of a brain turned to molasses by the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation, spurred along by a rising anger and an instinct that went back to the very beginning of humanity. _Save the children._

Dropping to a knee, Skye ignored the boys yelling at her, something about iron or running away? Maybe even Dean threatening to kill her himself if she didn't move her ass…? Whatever, she wasn't listening.

* * *

"The fuck is she doing?" Groaning under the strain, Dean tried to shift the weight pressing him tightly against the cold metal. He stomped hard on the fingers of panic trying to rise out of his stomach to wrap around his chest, focusing on the fact that they were all breathing and that meant there was half a chance. The shrill screaming from an entirely different part of his brain— insisting he get himself free _this_ _instant_ and rip Constance to shreds before she could touch Skyler— was a little harder to tune out. And more than a little disconcerting.

"...talking to herself?" Pausing in his own efforts to get loose, Sam peered through the swirling dust and shadows to where Skyler crouched a few feet away from Constance, ignoring everything around her to talk to ...nothing. At least, nothing they could see.

"I swear to God, we live through this and I'm gonna strangle her to death with her own hair."

* * *

"-it's okay." Choking the words out around the massive lump in her throat, Skye smiled, her brain screaming at her to do something— anything— other than what she was doing. Scream. Run. Cower in a corner... None of which were terribly great options and therefore her fight or flight could go fuck itself. "She can't hurt you anymore, I promise." _I hope._

Hands on surprisingly solid and warm little shoulders, she slowly stood to face Constance, a reassuring smile glued firmly in place as she urged them forward. "I think maybe it's time to go show Mama exactly how much you missed her."

* * *

_Hello Mommy._

The words rang out from nowhere, filling every crevice and corner around them, growing and echoing until Dean couldn't hear his own pulse thundering in his ears. The pressure holding Sam and Dean in place eased as two little kids shimmered into view, taking all of Constance's attention as they wrapped colorless arms around her. Everything went heavy as time stuttered and slowed, the air turning thick, making it a struggle to move. To breathe. To think.

_Welcome home._

* * *

As if she were seeing them for the first time, Constance blinked down at her children, the insanity that had driven her fading. Grief and regret flooded her, clear enough for even a blind man to see. Skye almost found herself feeling sorry for Constance. For about two seconds. After all, she'd murdered her own kids and then herself and then who knows how any men. They'd been cheating assholes, sure, but that was worthy of an ass-kicking and a break up, not a death sentence.

The children's voices faded into nothing and the stillness returned and for just a moment, Skye was wondering if that was somehow it. _Can you say anti-climactic_? ...a thought she promptly regretted as a swirling Hell-pit of shrieking doom split open beneath Constance's feet.

* * *

"...oh, fuck me." Clearing the desk, Dean wasted no time in scrambling over the debris covering the cluttered space between him and Skye. Grabbing her around the waist, he spun them both away from the chasm of swirling insanity yawning at her feet.

"What are you doing?" Knocked off balance when she started to struggle, Dean had to shout to be heard over the keening roar that tore at the edges of his mind. Locking an arm around her waist, he fought to pull her toward the gaping hole the Impala had left in the wall. "We have to go. Now!"

_Jesus, it's like trying to hold a pissed off cat. _Twisting in his arms, she was hard to keep hold off, and Christ she had sharp elbows ...and a dancer's legs, as Dean could attest when she used one of them on him and the next thing he knew, he was curled up on the floor trying not to throw up.

Holy _fuck_, that hurt. A hand between his legs, Dean tried to convince his diaphragm that breathing was a good thing, barely managing to gasp out a handful of words, "Sam, grab her!"

* * *

The kids. She had to get to the kids still clasped in Constance's arms. There was no thought behind it, just the most basic of instincts. _Save the children_.

...and considering she didn't like being grabbed at the best of times, she really couldn't be blamed for what happened next. The single rational part left in her brain recognized that Dean was trying to help and was going out of his way not to hurt her. Unfortunately for it, and for Dean, she was fully willing to exploit that fact.

Jamming her elbows into Dean's stomach, she forced him to loosen his hold long enough for her two twist around to face him. A bit of space and a little leverage later, she was free and he was gasping for Sam to stop her. Fat chance. Sam might be six feet of legs, but she was closer and not exactly slow. Also highly motivated.

Dropping heavily to a knee, Skyler paid no attention to the pit of the damned or the ghastly visage of Constance melting into it, only seeing the two small hands reaching for her, begging for help with panicked voices that ricocheted in her head.

* * *

In any other circumstances, seeing Skyler drop Dean like a bad habit would probably have been one of the top five moments of Sam's life. Now, however, not so much. What the hell was she _doing_?

"Sam, grab her!"

What else was he going to do? Taxes? Jumping over ragged chunks of ceiling, Sam vaulted over Dean's prone figure, two steps behind her when she skidded to a stop next to the vortex of horrors and dropped to her knees.

Holy _shit, _she was going for the children. Not that Sam had any desire to see a couple of kids get swallowed into whatever the fuck that thing was, but _seriously_? She was going to get herself killed and the kids were already dead, so what exactly was she trying to save?

* * *

Skyler didn't let herself think about what might happen to her if she fell into the stygian whirlpool of doomy death— probably madness and dragons and definitely nothing good— but luckily for her Sam wasn't about to let her find out first-hand.

Learning from his brother's mistake, Sam grabbed her arm instead of going for her body, wrapping a hand around her forearm. Smart man. Lifting a hand to fight him off, it took her a second to realize he wasn't trying to pull her away, his voice rising over what she could only assume was the tortured screaming of damned souls, "Can you reach them?"

"Yeah, I think so, just…" Reaching blindly for Sam's hand, she felt his fingers close firmly around her wrist, giving her the anchor she needed to stretch those few extra inches. It didn't take much to pry Constance off, she was in no kind of shape to fight back. Hell, at this point, she was barely a shape at all. _Eww_.

The little girl, Emilia— though how Skye knew that was a terrifying mystery in and of itself— threw her arms around Skye's neck, clutching onto her for dear life. Or death. Or whatever. Wrapping an arm around Clarke— again, no idea— -Skye hauled back, putting every bit of her ninety-eight pounds into pulling the kids free. And she'd never have managed if Dean hadn't heaved himself up off the floor, adding his strength to Sam's.

With a last burst of effort, the kids popped free like a cork from a bottle, sending all five of them sprawling. Just in time, too— because of course it was— the roiling sinkhole of agony closing with a cringe-inducing slurp that reminded Skye strongly of a particularly nasty public toilet.

Whole body throbbing, Skye blinked up at the ceiling, feeling the two kids laying next to her without having to look. "...so that's what a Hellmouth looks like."


	25. Dust To Dust

"-what the hell were you _thinking_? Do you have any idea what the fuck could have-"

Sitting perched on the sole portion of the fence that was still standing, the night dark around them save for the light of the moon and stars far above, Skye listened to Dean question her intelligence. Or at least pretended to, and had been for about ten minutes now. It'd been a little alarming, at first, all six-foot-two of him legit pissed and yelling, but that faded after about the first thirty seconds when she'd started yelling back. Now, though, he was on his third round of 'what the fuck were you thinking' and she was just waiting for him to run out of steam.

"-you could have been killed. You could have gotten Sam killed-"

Shifting, Skye slowly leaned over and lowered her voice, nudging Sam's shoulder and jerking her head in Dean's direction, "Has he always been like this?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Arms crossed over the top rail next to her, Sam rolled his eyes in Dean's general direction before settling his gaze on her. "How you holding up?"

"I'm good." Was she, though? The laughter of two dead children echoed in her head, unheard by the two men with her, as the kids played 'Dodge the Big Angry Oblivious Man' with Dean as he paced. Because that was normal. "Actually, I'm questioning my sanity."

"You'll get used to it."

Finally cottoning onto the fact that Skye wasn't hearing a single thing he was saying, Dean rounded on her, actually raising his voice another notch which she wouldn't have thought was possible. "Are you even listening to me?"

Alright, this had gone on for long enough and they had places to be and people to do, not to mention a stolen truck sitting a few yards away. Jumping down off the fence, Skye was totally unimpressed with Dean's temper tantrum. "I'm sorry, were you actually sayin' something? 'Cause it sounded to me like you were just blowin' a load of hot air."

Crossing his arms, Dean glared down at her and looked like he was revving up for another round of 'Let's Wake the Neighbors'— not the fun NC-17 version— and Sam's snickering probably wasn't helping any. "Excuse me?"

"Damn right, excuse you." Hands on her hips, she matched Dean glare for glare, not twitching so much as an eyelid when he stepped up to try using his size to cow her into submission. She was starting to think he wasn't totally conscious of doing that kind of thing, so used to being one of the biggest guys in the room. Well, good luck with that, buddy. It hadn't worked on her yet and it wasn't going to start now. "I get it, you can breathe now."

"I-"

"You're right." She couldn't quite keep from smirking up at him as she watched her words penetrate, short-circuiting his brain and bringing his ongoing tirade to a screeching halt. "And I'm sorry I scared you."

Sam's laughter rang out behind them, drawing a dirty look from Dean and turning Skye's smirk into a full-blown smile. "Man, she really does have you pegged."

Choking back a giggle at the nonplussed expression on Dean's too-pretty face as the wind went right out of his sails, Skye's voice drifted back over her shoulder, "Nobody asked you, Long John." Sam's voice echoed her own words back, adding a mocking twist that she quickly returned with a middle finger.

"Did you just admit I was right about something?"

"Okay, maybe not so much 'right' as just 'not wrong'." Come on, what was suspicious about that? She couldn't admit that maybe she'd done something stupid? Not that she wouldn't do it all over again if she had to, she totally would, but mentioning that part seemed less than politic just then. "Now, about the kids…"

* * *

Popping open the trunk, the squeal of the hinges unnecessarily loud in the still night air as Dean stared at the mess in the trunk, pondering what exactly his life had become and wondering how in the hell it had happened. Was there some deity out there laughing at him right now?

"You okay, Dean?"

"Oh, I'm just grand, Sammy." Grabbing a shovel and a bag of salt, Dean tossed them to his brother before turning back to dig around in the clutter of bullets and blades for the other shovel he knew was there somewhere. The clink of glass on metal drew his attention to the bottle of holy water that had been back there for God knew how long. ...now there was an uncomfortable thought. "You know what, ask me that again here in a couple hours."

"What are you doing?" Leaning against the car, Sam watched him stuff the bottle in a coat pocket, a silver knife and a bottle of lighter fluid soon joining it before Dean finished digging out the other shovel. "Are you— Have you not tested her yet?"

"No. I haven't." Slamming the trunk and slinging his shovel over a shoulder, Dean dared Sam to make an issue out of it. So he hadn't done the most basic task of making sure the mystery girl he stumbled over in a back alley wasn't, say, a demon or a shapeshifter or any of a dozen other different things. He'd kind of had other things on his mind at the time. "And?"

"And you're going to do it _now?"_

"She's seein' ghosts that we can't, Sam." Stalking away from his brother, Dean didn't look up as Sam stretched his legs to keep up, heading around to the back of the house where Skye claimed the kids said they were buried, both in one adult-sized coffin right next to their extra-dead mother.. At least they only had one hole to dig. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"People see ghosts others can't all the time. Hell, most people never see any and we've seen dozens." Okay, so maybe Dean didn't have the best timing ever, and Sam had a point but-

"She's _carrying them around_, Sam. That's not normal and I sure as fuck have never heard of it-" Generally speaking, even the legit psychics that could see spirits that didn't want to be seen couldn't interact with them, not like they were solid flesh-and-blood little people. If it were to living kids, it'd probably have been incredibly endearing to watch, but as it stood it was creepy and unsettling on a deep fundamental level and the thought that she might not actually be a person herself was enough to send his brain spinning in all different directions. "-so yeah, I'm gonna test her. I should have sooner I just...didn't."

"Oh, she is going to be _so_ thrilled."

"Shut up, Sammy."

* * *

Standing over the simple headstone mounted above the kids grave, Dean read the names and made a face, glancing over at where Skye stood a few feet away. "Emilia and Clarke? Seriously? Did I wake up in Westeros this morning?" Sinking the tip of the shovel a few inches into the dirt at his feet, Dean blinked, looking back at Skyler. "You know, you kinda look like her. Danari-Daneur...the Dragon lady."

"Daenerys." Raising a brow as Dean stuttered over the exotic name, Skye shook her head, scoffing at the suggestion as she at her happy ass down to watch the boys get to work. Crossing her legs, she propped her weight up on her hands, the end of her dark braid brushing the ground below. "Must be the hair."

"No, I can see it." Leaning on his shovel, Sam nodded agreement with his brother after giving Skye a good once-over. In fact if it were any better of a once-over, Dean might have considering thinking about hitting him. Again. "Well, except for the part where Daenerys is about two feet taller."

"Fuck you, Swizzle Stick."

"Skyler! Language." Pausing in his efforts long enough to clap a hand over his mouth, Sam gasped, his eyes widening in faux-outrage. "There are children present." Taking a quick look around, Sam frowned, brow furrowing as he tried to figure out if they were actually still there or not. " ...right?"

"Sitting right there laughing at you." Nodding her head toward Constance's headstone, Skye smiled, watching something cute or funny that they couldn't see. "They like you, Stringbean." Jerking her head in Dean's direction, Skye flashed him a saccharine-sweet smile. "Him not so much."

Muttering something rude under his breath that Dean was probably real lucky Skye didn't hear, he spared a quick look in the general direction of the unseen brats. "Yeah, well, tell 'em the feelings mutual."

"Tell them yourself. They're invisible, not deaf."

"And why is that, exactly? Why can you see them and we can't?" Flinging away a shovelful of dirt, Dean stopped and looked up at her, leaning an arm on the handle of the shovel as he asked the question that had been rolling around in his brain. "And why did they save you when Constance tried to flatten you?"

"Excellent question, I don't know." Meeting his eyes for a second, she tilted her head, a vague smile flitting over her lips as she listened to things he couldn't hear. Which was beyond aggravating, even if she did let him into the loop two seconds later. "They say it normally takes energy to be seen by the living but not for me?" Eyes sliding away from his, her gaze locked on the air about four feet off the ground just in front of her and she nodded absently before looking back up at him. "...and they just knew I would help them, I guess. I don't think they can really explain it either."

"So we get to dig a hole. Great." Resigning himself to the next couple hours of work, Dean dug the shovel blade deep into the earth, too busy grumbling to himself to hear Skyler get up and walk over. "Never had a spirit _ask_ to be salted and burned before."

"Well, there's a first time for everything." Standing a couple of feet away, she watched him and Sam dig up a few more buckets worth, the faintest smile teasing at the edges of her lips. Slipping off her denim jacket, she gestured for Sam to hand over the shovel he was using, stepping up to take a turn. "They're tired. They don't wanna be here anymore and they're ready to move on, they just need a little help to do it."

* * *

Arms wrapped around the children's shoulders, Skye watched Dean fling the last few square feet of dirt out of the now open grave, revealing the full-size coffin that she knew held two less-than-full-size people. Giving each kid a squeeze, she stuck on a reassuring smile as she looked down at the two somber faces staring back up at her, choosing to focus on them and not the sound of the shovel cracking open the rotten wood four feet away. There were some things she'd rather not see, and baby bones was pretty high up on the list. Spectral children tugging at her clothes she could handle, their actual remains not so much.

_Will it hurt?_

"I don't know, I've never done this before either." Crouching down to sit on her heels, she slid an arm around each little waist, heedless of how she must look to the two men looking on. On the one hand, sure, this was creepy as all fuck. On the other...they were just babies, and what was creepy about that? "It's okay to be scared, though, and it's okay to cry." Who knew ghosts could cry? Reaching up to wipe off a glittering tear off Clarke's cheek, she tried to be as calming as she possibly could. They'd already been through so much, they deserved a little comfort at the end, even if it was just the little she could offer. "Everything's gonna be okay. I promise."

* * *

Hauling himself up out of the grave, Dean retrieved the can of lighter fluid from his jacket, finding himself oddly reluctant to take the last final step to send the kiddos on their way. He couldn't help feeling sorry for them. After all, he wasn't a _total_ asshole. Usually. Though in this case it might be more Skyler he was feeling sorry for, considering he couldn't actually see the children and that did tend to make it a little harder to sympathize. Was she crying? ...fuck.

Biting the bullet, he flicked open the can, signaling to Sam to dump the salt before emptying the cans contents into the coffin. Tossing the empty can away, Dean dug a box of matches out of his pocket, hesitating as he looked over at Skyler. "You uh-you might wanna take a step back from 'em, Tink. Sometimes there's-" Giant flames and screaming agony? Yeah, no way he could say that. "...I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'll risk it." Refusing to look up at Dean, Skye shook her head, sniffing back a few more tears. Probably didn't want him to see her cry. To be fair, he didn't want to see it either, completely unable to offer her any kind of solace, though he wanted to more desperately than he cared to admit. How could he comfort someone that A: he couldn't even touch and B: thought he was the world's biggest asshole?

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, looking like he was having similar difficulty refraining from going to give the girl a giant hug. Running a hand through his messy, dirt-crusted hair, Sam winced as he agreed with Dean. "He's right, Skye."

Blinking up at them, eyes suspiciously bright, Skye looked at them both with an expression that clearly said they'd have to pry her way from the kids with a crowbar and they'd probably end up kneed in the groin for their trouble. "I said I'll risk it."

"...alright." Fine, if she wanted to be that way, she could be that way. Besides, if the kids really did turning into human torches, she'd back off fast enough. Right? Right. Mentally calculating how far the nearest hospital was just in case, Dean struck a match and held it for an eternal second, letting the miniscule flame sputter and catch before dropping it into the gaping hole at his feet.

Sputtering, the match threatened to go out before it grabbed onto the flammable liquid and flared to life, quickly engulfing the wood and the tragically young bodies inside it. Dean had been expecting that. Even fully expected those same flames to sprout around the children, bringing them to view and burning them to nothing. Or at least, that's how it usually went, but the world's full of surprises. And so was Skyler Bleu.

As they became visible to the naked eye, the children clung to Skye, heads buried in her shoulders as if she could save them from the flames licking at their clothes and teasing at their hair. And...she did. _Well I'll be a son of a bitch…_

The fire sprang up higher, enveloping Skye and the children and Dean found himself frozen in place, though every instinct he possessed was shrieking at him to grab her and pull her away from the threat. Except suddenly there was no threat, the harsh orange and red flames changing as they touched her, shifting and transmuting into swirling tendrils of blue-white light that hurt to look at.

And just like that, it was over, the brilliant light fading away to nothing and leaving just the Winchester boys and an exhausted Bleu behind. "...the fuck was _that_?"

Blinking at the whateverthefuck they'd just seen, Sam nodded slowly as he turned his head to look at Dean. "You know, maybe testing her isn't such a bad idea."

"...you think?"

* * *

"..._I don't do what I've been told, you're so lame why don't you go…"_

The music blaring from the earbuds stuck in Skye's ears was loud enough to be clearly audible over the rumble of the V8, making any attempts at conversation— or an apology— futile. Dragging his eyes away from the mirror, Dean glanced at the time before looking over when Sam spoke up from the passenger seat. "How is she not deaf yet?"

"Beats the hell outta me." Tabbing his thumb against the steering wheel, Dean was completely incapable of keeping himself from glancing in the rearview for the umpteenth time. Chewing on his lower lip, he sighed, though it was mostly on the inside. "You think she's still mad at me?"

"..._die motherfucker die motherfucker die…"_

"Seems fine to me." Smirking at Dean, Sam slouched down in his seat, knees jammed against the dash and elbow on the passenger door. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Well, I checked out those coordinates Dad left us. It's a spot in a national park in Colorado called Blackwater Ridge." Thumb drumming a staccato beat against the steering wheel, Dean let his thoughts wander further than the girl in the backseat, thankful for the brief reprieve even if it did mean thinking about his missing-and-possibly-dead father. "I figure if we shag ass, we can be there by tomorrow afternoon."

"I meant about Skyler, Dean…" Leaning his head back against the seat, Sam closed his eyes for a second before looking over at his brother, a trace of regret lacing his voice, "I've still got that interview on Monday and Jess is waiting for me. I'm not going with you guys… I can't."

"Yeah. Right." With everything else going on the last few days, somehow that one little fact had slipped his mind. With an almost physical pain, Dean felt his vague daydreams of him hunting down his missing father with Skye and Sam by his side slipping away to disappear into the ether. "Guess we better get you home, then."


	26. And So It Begins

Pulling the Impala up to the curb in front of Sam's building just as the sun started to heave itself above the horizon, Dean threw the car into park and killed the engine, slumping in his seat as Sam opened the door and unfolded himself from the passenger seat.

"You want the front seat, Midget?" Leaning in the open door, Sam avoided meeting Dean's eyes and smiled at the snippy girl in the backseat, who'd spent the entire three hour drive back sulking and giving Dean dirty looks when she thought he wasn't looking. Or maybe when she knew he was.

"I'm good, thanks."

The heat infusing her words made it quite clear why she was happy to stay right where she was, thank you very much, and Dean couldn't help a pang of guilt when he caught sight of the white bandage covering the cut on the back of her arm that he'd forced her to make.

"It was nice meetin' you, Sam." The anger faded from her eyes as she looked at his brother, a genuine smile gracing too-perfect lips. "Tell Jess we're sorry for keepin' you so long."

"I will, and thanks." Shutting the door, Sam braced himself against it for a minute, head lowering to the open window. "Give me a call sometime and I'll get you that reading list."

"Wait, you guys were serious about that?"

Smiling, Dean met her eyes in the rearview, getting a snarky look back that made him wonder how long she was going to hold a grudge. "What, you thought I was kidding?" Shifting his attention back to Sam, Dean's smile faded and he swallowed a regretful sigh. "I'll have to get her a phone, but I'll give her your number."

"Thanks."

With a last look, Sam smacked a hand against the car door and turned away, only getting a step or two before Dean cleared his throat and caught his attention. "You know, we made a hell of a team back there."

"Yeah, we did." Shaking his hair out of his hazel eyes, Sam grinned, though it wasn't as cheerful as maybe Sam would like to think. Maybe Dean wasn't the only one regretting the last four wasted years. "Call me, we'll hang out sometime."

"I'd like that."

"You can even bring the little woman."

Chuckling at the simultaneous responses from both the front and back seats, Sam turned away to a chorus of 'Fuck you, Sammy' and 'Eat me, Slim Jim', his smile just a little brighter and more genuine as he left to go resume his apple pie life.

* * *

Watching Sam disappear, Dean tried to brush off the urge to run after him, to beg him to come back and be a family again. Well, there was one surefire way to distract himself, and he could feel her glaring at him even now.

Shifting around to look at her without needing to use the mirror, Dean draped an arm over the back of the seat. "You still ticked off at me, Tinkerbell?"

Crossing her arms, Skye leaned against the back passenger door, a few stray strands of hair falling into those beautiful dark eyes as she glowered at him. "Would you _stop_ callin' me Tinkerbell?"

"Probably not, no." Nope. Never going to happen. There wasn't a doubt in Dean's mind that this was one nickname that was going to stick forever because it was just so damn perfect. Hell, half the time he didn't even think about her as Skyler anymore, it was just 'Tink'. His gaze drifting down to the gauze on her arm, Dean's smirk faded as he dragged his eyes back up to hers. "You do get why I had to make sure, right?"

"No, because I'm a total fucking moron."

Turning to stare out the window for a long moment, she was quiet for long enough that Dean started to turn back around, thinking she wasn't going to speak to him anymore for awhile. Unfortunately for him, he was starting to dislike her silence even more than he disliked her disdain.

Turning slowly back to look at him, the muscle in her jaw eased as her expression softened. "You get that I'm not upset about you making sure I'm not a monster, right?"

"...no?"

* * *

Stepping into the apartment building, Sam let the iron door fall closed behind him, the clank of metal on metal echoing up behind him as he took the stairs two at a time. With a little luck, he'd get to see Jess before he had to get showered and dressed for his interview, and if he was _really_ lucky he'd get to do a little more than see her.

Digging his keys out of his pocket, he jammed the key in the lock, impatient to get inside. To get back to his 'apple pie' life. To get back to Jess. Wrenching the door open, he didn't bother to flip on the lights, tossing his keys onto the coffee and his bag down by the door. "Jess? You up?"

The water running in the bathroom answered for her, announcing that she was indeed up, but likely hadn't heard him over the noise of the shower. Grinning, he loped through the living room and down the hall, bursting into their bedroom and flinging himself down on the bed. _God, it's good to be home._

"Hey Jess, I'm back." Closing his eyes and falling back onto the bed, Sam listened to the pleasant sounds coming from the other room, effortlessly summoning a mental image of his girlfriend wet and naked. _Maybe it's about time to make her more than a girlfriend_. It wasn't the first time the thought had crossed his mind, but this time it felt different, it felt real. "Hey, I was thinking, after my interview, we should go out to lunch. Maybe that place you like with the little finger sandwiches.

Waiting for Jess to get out of the shower, Sam half-dozed, thinking nothing of the fact that she had yet to respond. At least, not until the first drop of blood splashed against his forehead. Frowning, he threw a hand over his eyes, disinclined to come fully awake until the second drop hit his cheek and slid down to stain the bedspread beneath him.

Grudgingly opening his eyes, what he saw would haunt his darkest nightmares for the rest of his life.

* * *

Did he really not get why she was upset? How dense could a guy be? He spends half an hour yelling at her, then they start to get back to normal— whatever that meant— and then he springs a bottle of holy water and a silver knife on her out of nowhere and doesn't even _ask _her— no of course not— just _tells_ her to do it or he'll 'do it for her'. It wasn't that he'd checked her humanity, it was how he'd gone about it. _I mean, come on, seriously? "_Man, Winchester, you really gotta work on your bedside manner because it seriously sucks ass. Next time, just fuckin' _ask_, don't threaten."

"I'll keep that in mind." Turning back around in his seat, Dean glanced at his watch as he reached for the keys sticking out of the ignition. Going still, he looked up, turning more serious than the conversation seemed to call for. "Skyler, what time is it?"

"Don't know, why?"

"Because my watch stopped." With a growing sense of urgency that she utterly failed to see the reason for, Dean grabbed his phone off the seat next to him and tossed it in her direction as he threw open the door, jumping out of the car and calling back through the open window before he sprinted toward the apartment building. "Call 911!"

"What? _Why?_" Too late, he was gone. Man, he could move when he wanted to. Maybe he took track on high school. Grabbing his phone up off the seat, Skye flipped it open, craning around to see the building he'd disappeared into. ...and the single line of smoke starting to trail up from Sam's window. How the _fuck_…

Punching in the numbers for the second time in as many days, she climbed out of the car as she waited impatiently for the dispatch operator to answer. While it couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, it felt like forever as Skye watched the wisp smoke thicken before dissipating into the morning sky.

"911, where is your emergency?"

* * *

Taking the stairs three at a time, Dean couldn't quell the cold panic that infused his chest, busting out to try and overwhelm him as he skidded to a stop in front of Sam's door. He couldn't explain the feeling that had come over him when he'd look at the motionless hands on his watch, that creeping dread that told him something was horribly, terribly wrong.

There were times when he _really_ hated being right and this definitely topped the list. Not bothering to stop to take the time to pick the lock, or even try the doorknob, Dean busted the door in with one well-placed kick and barreled into the too-quiet apartment. Smoke already thickening the air, he coughed, throwing an arm over his nose and mouth as he screamed for his brother. "Sam!"

It took several long, agonizing seconds for him to clear the living room and kitchen, shouting as loud as he could to be heard over the faint crackle of flames coming from down the hall. Shifting into high gear, Dean slid to a stop at the bedroom door, busting it open to be met with a wall of smoke and flame.

His attention focused on the lanky figure sprawled on the bed, animal noises of pain ripping from Sam's throat as he screamed in denial, Dean almost didn't look up to see what Sam was staring at. Almost. And gods how he wished he didn't.

_Mom, burning on the ceiling of Sam's nursery, wreathed in blue flame and writhing in agony as blood dripped from the spreading red stain on her stomach. Mouth stretched open, her silent screams echoed and ricocheted in his brain, threatening to drive him mad._

Only it wasn't their mother this time, it was Jess, wreathed in the same flames that Mary Winchester had been so many years ago. And the fire was spreading.

* * *

Yanking on the iron entry door, the acrid smell of smoke met Skye's nose as soon as she stepped inside the dim interior. Uttering a silent prayer, she resisted the overwhelming urge to run up the stairs after the boys, instead turning her efforts to rousing everyone that might still be sleeping before the rest of the building could go up.

It didn't take long for her to find the bright red fire switch. Without hesitation, she threw it, setting off alarms that were loud enough to wake the dead. _Oh, Christ, I hope not._ Not totally trusting in people not to ignore the warning, Skye started banging on doors, kicking up as much of a fuss as she possibly could. "Fire! Everybody out! Fire!"

Within seconds, heads started popping out of doors up and down the hall, the rude muttering of sleep-deprived college kids turning to panic as they realized she wasn't just some coed pulling a prank.

Pretty soon her voice was joined by others and she was confident enough to leave the rapidly emptying first floor to head up to the second, stomping hard on the cold lump of fear that was tunneling up from her stomach to choke her more effectively than any amount of smoke ever could.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she met the boys coming down— _Oh, thank God— _though Sam seemed to be fighting Dean every step of the way. Coughing, she covered her mouth, eyes locking with Dean's as she silently asked the question she didn't dare voice aloud. She didn't have to, the shake of his head and the horror in his eyes were answer enough.

* * *

Ushering the boys out the door, Skye staggered out behind them into the blessedly clean air as the siren song of approaching emergency services split what had so recently promised to be a beautiful morning.

Time moved oddly after that, twisting and stretching around them like taffy, the sounds of sirens and the murmur of a gawking crowd melting together into one monotonous tone that sounded achingly similar to a heart breaking.

Afterward, not a one of them would be able to give any specific details about anything that happened in the hours that followed, every minute blurring into the next until nothing made sense anymore. And maybe never really would again.

The sun blazing high overhead, Skye found herself standing alone by the Impala with Sam, half a block from where the crowd was starting to disperse. What could she possibly say to him? There were no words that would make this okay, nothing she could possibly do to fix that lost look in his eyes. Reaching out in the only way she could, she wrapped her arms around his waist, wordlessly offering all the support she had to give.

With a choked sob, the dazed look left Sam's face. Her touch seemed to bring reality crashing in and he blinked, tears springing into his eyes and streaming down his cheeks as he buried his face in her hair and cried till she started to fear he'd never stop.

* * *

Leaning against the side of the car, she quietly watched Sam and Dean go through the small arsenal in the trunk, keeping one eye on the dozen or so police and firefighters still at the scene half a block away. Probably not the best time to be taking inventory, but far be it for her to say anything. Contrary to popular belief, she _did_ know how to keep her mouth shut when it mattered.

Stepping over to stand with the boys, Skye took comfort in Dean's stolid presence as Sam reached up to slam the trunk, his voice harsh with the thousand tears he'd cried and the thousand more he had yet to shed, "We got work to do."


	27. Epilogue

_The Personal Journal of Skye Winchester_

_In my dreams, I can still hear the slamming of the door, the sound echoing down the years as if it were the door closing on any chance of a normal life. For any of us. There have been oceans of pain and rivers of blood and we've lost so much. Friends. Family. Innocence. Sanity. Even our souls.. _

_Looking back, sometimes I wonder, if I knew then what I know now, would I change it if I could? I'd love to say no, that I wouldn't change a thing, that it was all worth it in the end… but I guess I'll leave that for you to decide._

_Welcome to the Winchesters. _


	28. Woman in White: Episode Playlist

Woman in White Playlist:

This playlist can be found on Spotify, just look for The Ties That Bind: Woman in White by Tink.

Episode Theme Song: Lit - Miserable

Led Zeppelin - Ramble On

Bishop Briggs - Tempt My Trouble

Alice Cooper - Poison

Soggy Bottom Boys - I Am A Man of Constant Sorrow

Burton Cummings - You Ain't Seen Nothin' Yet

Dixie Chicks - Cowboy Take Me Away

Hit Me With Your Best Shot - Pat Benatar

Die MF Die - Dope

Bonus Track: There's No Way - Lauv


End file.
